A butterfly now flutters by
and, on each wing, a giant eye
conceals she is a butterfly.
She flutters low, flutters high,
then settles on a salsify.
No flower, though, can ever tie
her wings to Earth. When blossoms dry,
their seed borne on a daydream-sky,
she’ll rise and, with the briefest sigh,
leave the warm breezes of July.



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