Upon a blossom sat a butterfly
Spellbound by its beauty, I reached to touch
Before I could, it flew with wings of dye
Floating on air and free of any crutch.
And so the butterfly left on the wind,
What disappointment might have bloomed
Mattered not, for my full heart did rescind
The sense that fleeting beauty is thus doomed.
To see that gem take wing, light and airy!
I know for all the world I would not have
Kept that colored creature stationary
For beauty is thus, of motion made of.
A moment's flight in pure serenity
Is worth more than a still eternity.