Translated by Jarek Zawadzki
How beautiful you are, oh butterfly,
But sadly from the display case you stare,
Stone-dead in a pose on a wing of an August day,
When you would rather hover in the air.
No wind now, lightly blowing, that may come
Will ever make you rise from non-existence
Or carry you as if a speck of dust
So that you savor altitude and distance.
No sunny ray will ever touch your wings,
The wings that sleep so widely open now.
You're like a sunless rainbow that upon
A pitch-black cloud has been bedimmed somehow.
No elm will evermore, for breakfast,
Treat you with its nectar or provide with shade,
No wind will ever ask you
To dance upon a meadow or a forest glade.
Were you a gorgeous swallowtail,
You'd love sweet roses that are oft in garden grown
Around the palaces and thrones of kings,
These flowers alas have been to you unknown.
But there's a consolation from behind
The showcase glass you can observe all-day
A nice scarce swallowtail pinned down,
Which (same as you)cannot take wing and fly away.~
Copyright © by Wieslaw Musialowski 4/22/2003
Topic(s) of this poem: alone,butterflies,butterfly,loneliness,poem,sad