Money Butterfly

Singular and solitary, the rarest sight indeed

Not a blue, red, orange, or yellow winged breed

A cocoon means change, and there was change to spare

When this precious money butterfly finally flew into the air

Wings like dollar bills, the Hundreds plain to see

But poor as a church mouse, this butterfly will be

When a person dies of poverty, the modern legend goes

The strangest kind of insect emerges from its throes

From another's grief and sadness, emerges a new gladness

But money butterfly thoughts are just tinged with some odd madness

Flutter through the forest, happy and carefree

But this flying thing remembers, how cruel life was to she

Ants, moths, beetles - centipedes and fleas

This butterfly lands and stops, to talk to birds and bees

Honey, honey, honey, was the bee's insistent plea

No good without some money, the butterfly said with glee

Its curled proboscis quivered, then suddenly it shivered

Remembering the sliver of a river of a giver

That the ones around this girl, her wings yet to unfurl

Had lorded and then hoarded like a tiny shrinking pearl

Butterfly is free, standing on a tree

Where money, like most honey, doesn't grow and come to be

So butterfly asks, the skylark oh so fair

Why caring seems so daring and why people just don't share

It flew over a house, stables, pools, and gardens

What causes hearts of rich ones to just harden and then harden

Is it just simply greed? That small but vicious seed

That can't even begin to see the open need upon the need

This insect isn't desperate, it has a soul to guard

Although it left in vain - broken, bitter, scarred

This bug not in a rug, wishes it was another

Than her same own troubled self that decided she would never be a mother

Some trains arrive on time, others are delayed

Butterfly wishes just this one train in its station it had stayed

A pillowcase of steel, this lonely railroad rail

Was what money butterfly was retelling to the snail

A virus, to be sure, had spread from shore to shore

But how can people hoard in their mansions and just snore

While the gorgeous face of Christi, her eyes surely misty

Wondered if this train would take a pass and somehow miss me