"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.