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Sonnet of a Butterfly



I met a yellow butterfly today;

she floated down the same path that I walked.

Although she didn't have a lot to say,

I liked the way she flirted when I talked.



She didn't stay too long, we didn't bond.

Bright butterflies are made that way, you know.

It's not that they don't want us to be fond,

it's simply love takes too much time to grow.



Young butterflies don't have the time to spend;

sweet nectar calls them on to brighter blooms.

This painted girl will be your dearest friend

until she smells a heady new perfume.



Don't blame a butterfly for being weak,

when empty prettiness is all we seek.