The Butterfly

Be still, I see a miracle

Upon that crimson bloom.

It’s basking in the exquisite

Blossom’s sweet perfume.

It doesn’t see us standing here,

We’re far to large to see,

But if we move too suddenly

It will most likely flee.

Great things are moving all around,

But it sees only all

The blossoms and the stems of grass

That are so very small.

And that is all it needs to see

To fill its place in life.

It never needs to know the ills,

The worry and the strife

That fill the world of larger lives

That it goes flitting by

And we can but desire such peace

With a soft, wistful sigh.

There is so much that can be said

For living life that small;

You give up much that makes life rich,

But you don’t give up all.

I wonder if, to God, we are

Much like that insect sprite;

He loves to watch us as we live

Though he’s beyond our sight.

Do we reflect such beauty to

His doting, watchful eye?

And does he hold his breath each time

He sees us flitting by?