The butterfly his opus writes,
on breezes passing by.
Yet as he writes he does forget,
the how, the when, and why.
A butterfly I'd love to be,
but the fates will not comply.
For I still remember how, and when.
At times I've just forgotten
why.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Just the write poem for mee. Often, I am a butterfly but somtimes a Beeeeeee!
Thanks..The Amused...clever rhyme and play on words you did. I appreciate it.