The meadows green and floral hills

All splashed with autumn's color

Bend and ripple to the wind's sweet

Breath and gentle allure.

And on the drafts more colors float

Arriving with such ease

They seem to touch the clouds above

And flit upon the breeze.

No snare can touch them, out of reach

We but see them pass to sigh

Content along its peaceful way:

The 'jestic butterfly.