When a butterfly is born it spreads its gossamer wings
To dry in the sun.
By day it gleams in the sunlight,
By night it rests in the moon’s embrace.
In death its spirit soars aloft to butterfly heaven.
The butterfly has no time to waste.
It is a missionary.
It carries the breath of souls from bloom to bloom.
It kisses the heart of any flower, hungry for its nectar.
Some butterflies are proud creatures.
They wear fine gowns in wondrous hues.
Others are humbly clad in white,
Like noiseless nuns within cloister walls.
The butterfly can teach us how to fly, though
It is not a bird or a leaf in the fall.
So imagine all the leaves on all the trees were butterflies,
To grow and breathe and rustle in the breeze,
Until one day they feel the call of mortality
In their veins.
The umbilical cord snaps
And they embark on that long journey
Down the pathways everyone must follow,
Butterfly, leaf, and all.
This poem was inspired by this image by Julie Marks: