"I am a butterfly," she says

"That's impossible," I reply.

All the rest of us are grounded

So she shouldn't be able to fly.

"I can show you," she smiles

She walks toward the door

Then her back explodes with color

Luminescent wings unfold

Bearing her aloft with powdery shimmer

She flies toward the sun

The wind is her lover

Every flower is outdone

She sings us a song with her wings

Then catches a rising updraft

And, silhouetted against the sun, she hovers

Before she is carried away iridescently

Because the stars beckon gently.

We watch her from below

I wish I had gone along.

"Butterflies die in winter,"

"She won't live for that long."

Author's Note: I couldn't figure out how to format this so there would be line breaks between the stanzas. So I had to use those horizontal line things. Also, the message of this poem is not supposed to be a negative one, although a lot of people seem to interpret it that way. Still, interpret it however you want.