I'm Covered All in Black

But if you scratch the surface
you'll see all the colors underneath.
As the wax flies off in the hands,
of a lepidopterist I'm a butterfly. And

in the hands of botanist
I'm an orchid. If you were a mother,
I can be your kid if you drew  
a circle for my eyes and head, loops for

ears and nose, a wiggle for a mouth
and a body with some clothes in red
and green and gold. But if you leave me
black then black is all you'll see. If you sit

back and don't look under
me. The colors are all hidden, cloaked in
a black prison. The shapes are yet
to take without a pen or stake.