We gazed upon a butterfly,
as it rested on a tree,
And as I sat and looked at it,
a thought occurred to me.

Many words could be used,
To describe that butterfly.
But first, I'll choose to use the ones,
That are strictly clear to eye.

The diverted tail was of black,
The body, was likely an inch.
The wings were many shades of blue,
With a spot of purple, just a pinch.

White outlined all of the colors,
From where I sat, this I could see.
Theres my objective description,
Now I'll describe it differently.

The fragile little butterfly,
With violent, majestic hues,
Gave off a translucent shimmer,
That changed with changing views.

It paused ever so sweetly,
To bless me with it's grace,
And my heart swelled within,
While I sat here in this place.

The colors were made deeper,
By the brilliance of the sun.
There's my subjective description,
But one more thought before I'm done.

It really makes no difference at all,
The words we use or choose to imply,
Because in the end if you think about it.
It's still the same butterfly.