Are we not all floating in midair?
With-o a sailor – with-o a boat.
With-o much care – with-o a rope.
But within the wings of a butterfly.
One can hope – try n reach up high.
In this a rainbow does bids entice.
But where is thy shell oh butterfly?
When the rains n winds whilst come.
You’re lead this – that way on whims.
How will you know the truth to begin?
When so easily your colors do erase.
Leaving slight if any trace of beginnings.
It’s just shimmering dust on your wings.
If in capturing, your wings would collapse.
So delicate, equally free, and beautiful.
Fly while you have the chance – butterfly.
Your colors, freedom, will be admired.
Some are bright yellow – others, all, white.
Some are larger than life, rare beauties.
Each of them valuable -precious – unique.