The Butterfly

A butterfly came into sight,
And hovered near a tree,
Fragile wings capturing the light
So beautiful to see.

A golden hue, fringed in red,
With spots of nightly black,
Colors blending from the head,
And trailing down the back.

It set about its daily task,
Flitting from flower to flower,
Filling to brim its tiny flask,
With nectar from nature's bower.
I glanced away for some distraction,
Just an instant, not very long,
Looked back, and sad was my reaction,
The butterfly was gone.

©George J. Luther