Butterfly Poems

In the middle of our porridge plates
There was a blue butterfly painted
And each morning we tried who should reach the
butterfly first.
Then the Grandmother said: "Do not eat the poor
butterfly."
That made us laugh.
Always she said it and always it started us laughing.
It seemed such a sweet little joke.
I was certain that one fine morning
The butterfly would fly out of our plates,
Laughing the teeniest laugh in the world,
And perch on the Grandmother's lap.

Thine emulous fond flowers are dead, too,
And the daft sun-assaulter, he
That frighted thee so oft, is fled or dead:
Save only me
(Nor is it sad to thee!)
Save only me
There is none left to mourn thee in the fields.
The gray grass is not dappled with the snow;
Its two banks have not shut upon the river;
But it is long ago-
It seems forever-
Since first I saw thee glance,
With all the dazzling other ones,
In airy dalliance,
Precipitate in love,
Tossed, tangled, whirled and whirled above,
Like a limp rose-wreath in a fairy dance.
When that was, the soft mist
Of my regret hung not on all the land,
And I was glad for thee,
And glad for me, I wist.
Thou didst not know, who tottered, wandering on high,
That fate had made thee for the pleasure of the wind,
With those great careless wings,
Nor yet did I.
And there were other things:
It seemed God let thee flutter from his gentle clasp:
Then fearful he had let thee win
Too far beyond him to be gathered in,
Snatched thee, o'er eager, with ungentle grasp.
Ah! I remember me
How once conspiracy was rife
Against my life-
The languor of it and the dreaming fond;
Surging, the grasses dizzied me of thought,
The breeze three odors brought,
And a gem-flower waved in a wand!
Then when I was distraught
And could not speak,
Sidelong, full on my cheek,
What should that reckless zephyr fling
But the wild touch of thy dye-dusty wing!
I found that wing broken to-day!
For thou are dead, I said,
And the strange birds say.
I found it with the withered leaves
Under the eaves.

butterfly, butterfly
fly in the sky
butterfly, butterfly
flies so high
butterfly, butterfly
lands on my thigh
butterfly, butterfly
motionlessly lies
butterfly, butterfly
gracefully dies

The dawn is smiling on the dew that covers
The tearful roses; lo, the little lovers
That kiss the buds, and all the flutterings
In jasmine bloom, and privet, of white wings,
That go and come, and fly, and peep and hide,
With muffled music, murmured far and wide.
Ah, the Spring time, when we think of all the lays
That dreamy lovers send to dreamy mays,
Of the fond hearts within a billet bound,
Of all the soft silk paper that pens wound,
The messages of love that mortals write
Filled with intoxication of delight,
Written in April and before the May time
Shredded and flown, playthings for the wind's playtime,
We dream that all white butterflies above,
Who seek through clouds or waters souls to love,
And leave their lady mistress in despair,
To flit to flowers, as kinder and more fair,
Are but torn love-letters, that through the skies
Flutter, and float, and change to butterflies

Butterfly, the wind blows sea-ward,
strong beyond the garden-wall!
Butterfly, why do you settle on my
shoe, and sip the dirt on my shoe,
Lifting your veined wings, lifting them?
big white butterfly!
Already it is October, and the wind
blows strong to the sea
from the hills where snow must have
fallen, the wind is polished with
snow.
Here in the garden, with red
geraniums, it is warm, it is warm
but the wind blows strong to sea-ward,
white butterfly, content on my shoe!
Will you go, will you go from my warm
house?
Will you climb on your big soft wings,
black-dotted,
as up an invisible rainbow, an arch
till the wind slides you sheer from the
arch-crest
and in a strange level fluttering you go
out to sea-ward, white speck!

Source: Poemhunter
https://www.poemhunter.com/

Fluttering brightly,
Free in the air.
Beautiful fliers,
Dancing without care.

From tiny larva,
Transformation begins.
A chrysalis cocoon,
Emerging as wings.

Each wing so defined,
Mirror images on display.
Nature's perfect symmetry,
On wings that take breath away.

Whispers on the wind,
Butterfly's wings take flight.
Silent grace in motion,
A dance against the light.

Medium Poems

A fluttering friend with wings so bright,
Dancing in the sun with pure delight.
A symbol of hope, of rebirth and grace,
A butterfly's presence, a sight to embrace.

She flits and she floats on gentle wind,
Her beauty and grace, impossible to rescind.
In gardens and meadows, she dances alone,
A breathtaking sight, in a world of her own.

Her metamorphosis, a story of woe,
From caterpillar to beauty, her journey we know.
Her wings carry her high, on a path so free,
A fluttering friend, a sight for all to see.

A rainbow of butterflies, colors so bold,
Their wings as vibrant as tales yet untold.
In a world full of choices, of subtle hues,
These butterflies, nothing like the blues.

Yellow and orange, green and blue,
A fluttering spectacle, rare and true.
Their dance in the air, an ode to light,
A beauty to behold, to revel in sight.

With a delicate touch, they land on a flower,
Their wings a canvas, an art in its power.
The grace of their flight, a sight like no other,
These butterflies, to nature, a crowning glory and wonder.

A silent beauty, soaring high,
Her wings, a work of art, in the sky.
A butterfly, so gentle and free,
A symbol of nature's grand mystery.

Her fluttering wings, a soft lullaby,
A symphony of movement, a serene lullaby.
A magical presence, in the gardens untold,
The silent beauty of the butterfly unfolds.

Her colors, a spectrum of light,
A beauty so pure, in nature's delight.
A mystery unsolved, a story untold,
The silent beauty of the butterfly, hard to hold.

Long Poems

In fields of green and purple flowers,
Flits a butterfly with all her powers,
She dances in the wind, free and light,
Her wings a blur of colors bright.

For hours and hours she flits and flies,
Above the meadow she seems to rise,
Her wings beat fast, a blur of motion,
A symbol of nature's pure devotion.

As she flutters through the summer breeze,
The world around her seems to freeze,
Her graceful movements fill the air,
With beauty, wonder, and a gentle flair.

Each petal she lands on, she drinks with zeal,
A sight so captivating, so surreal,
In awe we watch and stand amazed,
As she flits and flies in serenade.

Her wings a canvas, a work of art,
A masterpiece to touch the heart,
Each stroke of color, each line so fine,
An ode to the joys of life divine.

She dances and twirls with carefree glee,
A symbol of joy and jubilee,
Her flight, like life, is short-lived,
But her memory is forever etched.

So let us cherish each moment we see,
This beautiful butterfly, this work of beauty,
For in her flight, we see ourselves,
So fragile, yet so full of life and wealth.

And when at last she takes her flight,
We'll watch her go, with tears in sight,
But we'll remember her, and her flight so bright,
And cherish forever, this work of light.