A red-dress girl read

a book and asked:

Should there be a butterfly?

If there were a butterfly, should it be red?

Yes, a red-winged butterfly,

skipping between blades of red grass,

tips down the dew from each one.

Drops take on the red tint

of sunrise as they fall.

Red-sparkling dewdrops like wine

fall from red grass

onto red clay,

where a red worm drinks them

until a red bird finds him.

So read the red-dress girl

a book of red, and read

it again.