This butterfly stays in the North
When winter winds blow snowy cold.
And then this butterfly flies forth
When the sun with warmth does unfold.
The mourning cloak - this butterfly
Is called because of wings black hued,
Which soaks in warmth from sunny sky,
And puts me in a mating mood.
With warm wings I fly in search of
The somewhere out there perfect mate,
To come together in pure love,
Then die soon after - tiz my fate.
The mourning cloak - a name that be
Fit for a butterfly like me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem