Peaks reach up with puckered lips
dying to kiss the sky
Hills not lush, but green with envy
at the rain, lucky to dwell on high
but the peaks cannot fathom
why the rain would fall to the tree and the sea
when the sky is what they want so very desperately
such is the nature of desire
all seems greener on divergent pastures

My friend is a shy butterfly.
She doesn't want to come
Out of her cocoon.
She is colorful and beautiful and bright,
But she doesn't want anyone to know.
She stays quiet and tries
To blend in with the plain leaves,
To not draw attention to herself.
Only some people notice the butterfly.
And she lets them, if they're kind.
They are the lucky ones.