The Butterfly Farm (Poetry)

Born to be pretty
a living jewel
their days are numbered
they bask in the sun
no care in the world

Their needs are simple
each indolent thought
flitting at random
brief pleasure is caught
in frivolous things

Tall visitors come
to marvel and gawp
consider small lives
romantically short —
a flash in the pan

All live out their lives
in prisons built bright
reality strung
in boxes of light
illusion’s blue space

The thrill of first flight
dissolved to a dream
where glass cannot trap
the spirit that’s keen
on death’s great escape