that yellow and black butterfly
I would most assuredly
not flutter around awaiting my return
to pound my wings dance in circles
around my mere countenance

I'd more rather follow the violet
girl into the hills
and encircle her head stutter and prance
wildly aloft on the winds gentle
blow

or set sights on the red rose's open
caress in the glow of the morn'
on some meadow's green
and take chances
on wing

through a sunlit tree
touching each
limb and leaf to
gather more friends
in my brief
visiting.