58 Poem by Morgan Michaels

Butterfly, butterfly
you live up there
high up in the sky
steer and you veer you
there and here
flower to flower-
dine on fairy fare
and nectar-water
apparently without a care;
all time defy
living on family gold-
isn't it really time
you had a caterpiller?
Beware the coming cold.
It isn't fair.
If you, too, were
stuck with hair
with only half my sucker power
and saw clear
on carrion to feed
you too could vermin breed
sure and awfully sure, I'm
sure that if you only tried
you could be
a bug like me
annoying everyone
always on the outside
trying to sneak in
or the inside on
longing to get out
anger self justified
seeming not to care-
Shape up or you're done for
there, Butterfly-
Yours, in envy and despair,

Fly.