Saw this and thought of you…flutterby.
TO A BUTTERFLY.
l’ve watched you now a full half hour;
Self-poised upon that yellow flower
And, little butterfly indeed
l know not if you sleep or feed.
How motionless! - not frozen seas
More motionless! and then
What joy awaits you, when the breeze
Hath found you out among the trees,
And calls you forth again.
This plot of orchard-ground is ours.
My trees they are, my Sister’s flowers.
Here rest your wings when they are weary.
Here lodge as in a sanctuary.
Come often to us, fear no wrong,
Sit near us on the bough.
We’ll talk of sunshine and of song.
And summer days, when we were young;
Sweet childish days, that were as long
As twenty days are now.
William Wordsworth…1770-1850.