Was it better to know the butterfly
as he flew about the vegetable garden,
or to have simply seen him as a passerby
enjoying his stay in the sunshine?
Perhaps if I’d known him, he’d have stopped
and helped me along with my planting,
or told me a story about sunflowers
and how they made a magnificent landing;
but having never met, he stopped all the same
and waited hesitantly at the head of the gate,
fluttering his wings, faintly ready to fly away,
and that distant beauty wasn’t lost in friendly banter.
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