Dusk dawns
And the birds call
As the world trudged on
Into twilight.
The sky darkening
Orange turning blue
Gaia brandishing
Her best.
As people ready for the night
They forget
To gaze upon such beauty
Offered to them.
For men are fools
Searching for beauty and perfection.
Yet blind to the wonders
Beheld before them.
For the wings of a butterfly
Are as intricate as the orbits of the heavens.
And the the flap of its wings
As harmonious as a lute.
Yet it is one
Of the many things
We behold.
Things we forget
Things we regret.
Things we miss
When it is offered no longer.
Yet still man pushes on
In search of a perfection nonexistent
Forgetting nature
That is perfection incarnate.
