At the Butterfly Conservatory

Stand underneath the fan where it is cool,

Winged, spotted things take their flight in the dome,

To try to catch the butterfly is fodder for the fool,

Quixotic quests are only the road to Rome.

I’m not concerned for any of that now,

I read the specimen placards on the rails,

Feather light mariposa lands on my brow,

Ribbons of light trace my arms like braille

Mama said I could wear my pink tulle dress

Dad says “hold still” as one lands gently on my lip

Amongst the Morphos and Monarchs, I am a Princess

Up flutters the swallowtail, like Pan’s flying ship

Next we’ll go to the garden, mama’s favourites are roses

But I’d much rather stay here, among the mariposas.