Is it such an aimless flight

Is it such an aimless flight

Bobbing up and down

Jagging left to right,

Returning from

Whence it came.

The pollen thief,

Touching petal and leaf,

For less time than

It takes to breathe,

Before taking off again.

An evasive manoeuvre,

An evolutionary device,

Death at this early stage

Too high a price

To pay for the perfect taste

Of nectar,

When they have so much

Yet to contribute

Before they die,

Caught on the wing.

Butterflies carry no sting

And have no voice

With which to sing,

But in the brief time

They have to be free,

As with the birds

And the bees

In their hives,

The simple truth is

We owe them our lives.

As butterflies shimmer,

Dusted wings glimmer

With a kiss of sunlight,

And as we delight

In their

Anachronistic flight,

They dance

To their own silent song,

All summer long.