Butterflies
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Poetry
Butterflies,
Can be the colour of your eyes.
They start life as tiny eggs,
finally having wings and six legs.
From their life start to life,
they can be a gardener’s strife.
When they are slinky caterpillars,
they eat all the succulent cultivars.
When they grow some more,
and have a good food store
You may find their diamond chrysalis,
where there is magic stasis.
From the pupa stage,
when they are the right age,
A new butterfly will emerge,
with mother nature’s gentle urge.
Then you will see the fresh flight of the children’s delight.
You can see the summer dance,
as thirsty butterflies do chance.
They dare to cross the gravel path;
butterflies come to visit gardens and soft earth.
In their colourful staggered flight,
they drink petals distilled in sunlight.
They sip sweet flower nectar,
as they fluster the garden director.
With a shout and sudden dash,
at the butterfly the man does lash
But we know the butterfly will win,
you can see his cheeky grin.
Across the beds she does fly
As summer sun begins to die.
Butterflies will dance and jest
For their love is the best.
Never fear the garden’s net,
For we will fly free yet.
Butterflies,
Can be the colour of your eyes.
They start life as tiny eggs,
finally having wings and six legs.
From their life start to life,
they can be a gardener’s strife.
When they are slinky caterpillars,
they eat all the succulent cultivars.
When they grow some more,
and have a good food store
You may find their diamond chrysalis,
where there is magic stasis.
From the pupa stage,
when they are the right age,
A new butterfly will emerge,
with mother nature’s gentle urge.
Then you will see the fresh flight of the children’s delight.
You can see the summer dance,
as thirsty butterflies do chance.
They dare to cross the gravel path;
butterflies come to visit gardens and soft earth.
In their colourful staggered flight,
they drink petals distilled in sunlight.
They sip sweet flower nectar,
as they fluster the garden director.
With a shout and sudden dash,
at the butterfly the man does lash
But we know the butterfly will win,
you can see his cheeky grin.
Across the beds she does fly
As summer sun begins to die.
Butterflies will dance and jest
For their love is the best.
Never fear the garden’s net,
For we will fly free yet.
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