There is a flitting butterfly in sight of all the passers-by-
lighting on a broad-leaf, I wish that I could blink and be
a butterfly, like one I see.
What species, then, I couldn’t tell,
the lighting in the field was fell,
but simply with its fleeting swell it caught my eye and cast a spell.
Whether monarch, with its spotted wings
or swallowtail, a colored thing of yellow with perhaps some blue
that sang a presence, then withdrew
to places past where I could see, leaving just my fancy free:
wondering what butterfly I could be.