In the quiet dawn, they gently rise,
Butterflies with wings of fragile grace,
Whispering secrets to the morning skies,
As sunlight kisses their delicate face.
Colors burst in a silent dance so free,
Each flutter a symphony of hues,
Beneath the canopy of the ancient tree,
Where dreams and morning mists fuse.
Through fields of blooms, they wander and play,
Carried by breezes soft and light,
Weaving through the golden rays,
In a world of wonder and pure delight.
As day unfolds, they drift away,
Their shadows fading in the noontide glow,
Leaving behind a trace of the day,
A fleeting glimpse of natureâs show.