Butterflies In My Garden

In the nursery where roses sprout,

Butterflies dance in brief melancholy.

Their sensitive wings, a distinctive tone,

Murmur privileged insights, old and new.

Among the petals, they delicately track,

An expressive dance of varieties, the roses spread.

Their flight, a dance of elegance and light,

In the brilliant hours, unadulterated enjoyment.

Toward the beginning of the day's kiss, they alert,

With each ripple, a story they make.

Murmurs of affection, murmured so fine,

In the nursery, where spirits lace.

Each rose, a section in nature's tune,

Each butterfly, a dream to long.

In the woven artwork of life they weave,

Snapshots of delight, they benevolently leave.

With delicate murmurs, they give,

Illustrations of adoration, from one heart to another.

In the nursery, where time stops,

Butterflies dance, with such expertise.

So let them meander in this consecrated space,

In the rose nursery, their abode.

For in their flight, we track down a hint,

To cherish's everlasting, ageless shade.