Phosphorescent of sun,
you flutter into view, nervous beauty.
Wings of stained glass radiant
as florescent light, plashless in flight!
Leap of silk, voiceless might,
free of nouns, you sip nectar without speech
from your cushion of petals.
Your laborious flutter is for flowers,
too rooted in their dance,
to pollinate and procreate
their loveliness. Helper
of the wind in your brief life,
you slowly burgeon and sprout
from your chrysalis to die too soon,
sweet trace of nectar on your lips,
like all of us, gone to soon,
reigning too briefly to understand our power,
our scepter stilled, pen silenced,
just as we've fully bloomed.