Upon the emerald carpet, where the clover blooms, A creature of the air, on gossamer it zooms. The butterfly, a fleeting shade, a whisper on the breeze, A living jewel, borne on the wings of summer trees.
It dances 'mid the daisies, a fleeting, vibrant gleam, A soul unbound, a sunlit dream, a fleeting, vibrant gleam. It sips the nectar deep, from blossoms sweet and rare, A tiny, winged spirit, beyond all earthly care.
The meadow, vast and green, a canvas for its flight, Where shadows chase the sunlight, and day gives way to night. A symphony of nature, a chorus soft and low, The rustle of the grasses, the gentle, rhythmic flow.
And as the sun descends, and paints the clouds with fire, The butterfly, at peace, ascends, on wings of pure desire. A fleeting, fleeting moment, a beauty rare and brief, A testament to nature's grace, a whispered, wordless grief.