“Butterfly”

Born from silent, hanging thread,  
A cradle spun in silver light,  
The gentle dreams a caterpillar bred  
Give wings to break the hush of night.

First, trembling brush of painted scale—  
A petal drifting down the sky—  
Each color, spun from sun and veil,  
A living lantern floating by.

In gardens bright with pink and flame,  
You tilt on wind, a sudden spark.  
Brief as wishes, wild as aim,  
Dancing shadows on the bark.

You kiss the blooms with velvet feet,  
A secret guest in clover’s hall.  
The world grows softer, scents grow sweet,  
While you, so weightless, grace us all.

Oh butterfly, bright spirit’s sigh,  
What lesson in your short parade?  
That joy must break, that we must try—  
To find the beauty unafraid.

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