Butterfly

The butterfly flies high like an eagle, 
She soars spreading her wings out. 
She looks like a small leaf, 
dancing to the wind. 

The butterfly flies past the first tree, 
In the orchard lit by light. 
This tree's leaves are the colours of sunset, 
It looks like a mango. 
Its leaves are spinning and falling, 
To the sea of leaves that lay below the grand tree. 
It looks like a flaming fire. 

The butterfly continues its journey to the end of the orchard, 
This time she flies past the second tree. 
This tree is bare like a plain chocolate bar, 
It is the empty in emptiness. 
This tree is blanketed in white, soft powdered sugar, 
Strong wind circles it like a hurricane. 

The butterfly beams as she passes the third tree, 
This tree reveals shiny apples as if they have been polished. 
Tiny newborn animals run around the base of the blooming flower, 
Vibrant colours splash onto the spring canvas. 
This tree's leaves are a sparkling emerald. 

The butterfly rides the wind looking out on the last tree, 
Reflected in the leaves are images of children on the ferris wheel and children eating cotton candy. 
On one of the branches a child’s holiday hat quivers, 
This tree smells like the salty sea. 

At last, the butterfly finishes its journey,  
It flies low scarcely touching the ground. 
She dives folding her wings close to her body.  
She starts to settle down to sleep.