I am a protean and aren’t we all,
Moods gather us like summer moths
Our wings fluttering before dodging again
Through the great green leaves,
To perch on a branch, until the wind
With another flutter of wings carriers us,
In directions unknown, then gone again
Our mind aquiver, our directions twisting
Leaving only desires to guide us,
Leading us, lost aimless in another direction
To find another tree, another branch.
The word Protean comes from Proteus, an old sea god in Greek mythology.
Proteus could change his shape.
It also means constantly changing.
