When butterflies sleep, do they dream of sweet,
Or comforting quilts, woven cocoon deep?
And where do they go, their dreaming to meet?
Between blades of grass? Into creviced keep?
And how do they know the time’s ripe to reap
Honey nectar gold from the bursting bloom?
Is it some kind of message sent to creep
Up a scent-drawn tongue in the nightly gloom?
Do they miss the bounds of the close-knit womb
Or revel in blue sky and crayon-hued light —
Tight warp and weft of the summertime loom?
How do they know where to go in the night?
Distractions arise from their stained glass wings —
Lead an earth-bound girl to wonder such things.