Like a dried up leaf leaving the tree,
Floating like a sail, rolling and pitching,
Butterflies cross the road, happily
And never, never in a straight line,
In the rainy month of September.
How they can see in their twisted
Movements, I wonder: they rush
Close to the moving vehicle: yet,
Never seen a butterfly-accident:
Just at the last moment, dragonfly-like
They turn and zoom, swoop and dance
Away, leaving us to wonder delightedly
At nimbleness of wit in Nature’s darlings.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem