It was the middle of August, on a warm summer’s day, When the butterflies carried me away.
Over wide open plains, with my hands on the reigns; for the impromptu holiday.
Up on their backs, with wings, I was carried. Out into fields and groves, with berries.
They spoke in my ear, short tales of the year, and dropped magic like glitter with glee.
They sat me in grass, at cool waters edge, and brought fruit in baskets to eat.
They dove ‘neath the water, the river to dredge, to leave sparkling stones at my feet.
I dug through the seashells and colorful rocks, and gathered my favorites to keep.
The air sang like church bells, the peak of the clock, the butterflies rose with a leap.
In a spiraling cloud, we took to the sky.
The trees all bowed, and started to cry.
The wind sang us home, with music anew.
I was never alone, for the butterflies knew:
It was I who they needed, I needed to be.
Their magic was nothing with no one to see.
They left me but pleaded, for their own return,
To teach me of something, their magic to learn.
In feeling their longing, I asked them to stay.
In my home, there, belonging; at least one more day.