The Butterfly

As she drinks nectar from a flower, sweetness from heaven falls like dew anointed with a gentle rain amidst sun showers she appears as if on cue Lifting her wings she lands on a Zinnia beneath a tinted sky of April blue flight of fancy fanning fast, fabulous marvel, she is beauty true on true A curious witness to this mummer in Mother Nature's magnificent scheme she magically meanders in the mountain meadow by the flowing stream A youth, in floral print as new as Spring, wonders, is paradise what it may seem and after eighty Springs, an aged girl asks, was it more than just a dream