When butterfly's flutter by
I wonder if they wonder why
or even if, at times they sigh
to not be higher in the sky
To soar free
miles above the likes of thee
looking down at the patchwork land
briefly broken by lines of sand
but their wings are weak
so they must seek the lower signs of land
they can top the hill
if air be still
else its power blown
will their actions own
so they seek shelter in the gale
frost, and unkind hail
How strange then to be a butterfly
beautifully formed
blessed to fly
but tantalised by mocking sky
they bask in sun to dry their wings
and maybe never think of these things
and if they did would they cry
miniscule teardrops from the sky
