There's something happy about butterflies.
They flit-flitter as they flutter by,
flying flowers against the azure sky.
They alight upon the milkweed, and then
they circle, soar and alight again,
toe-dancing on pink petals in the glen.
Ever dwelling in hue and sweet fragrance,
in garden splendor they flicker as they dance.
Pollination is purely happen-stance.
I delight in their overflow of joy.
(They wouldn't even know how to be coy.)
A flame of mirth! A whirligig! A toy!
Do they recall they once were grubby worms,
remember well their dark and squiggly squirms?
Reborn, now grace and beauty each affirms!
This almost seems to be sheer fantasy,
sky dancers as enchanting as can be,
springing from blossoms right in front of me!
So, merrily a-nectaring they go,
reaping and sowing sweetness in day-glow…
Seems they have learned what all of us should know.
In contemplation of their simple ways,
I wish to add their ballet to my days,
to sky dance gracefully on wings of praise!
Maude Carolan Pych