A Butterfly upon a stone
One on dusty wings has flown
One has weathered on its own
Both pass through this world alone
Butterfly lives unaware
Of what a gift it is to fly
Never questions where or why
Wanders by without a care
Alive for but the briefest flight
Then forever into night
The hardest and the softest meet
One whose day is short and sweet
One that time can scarce defeat
Both their cycles are complete
Stone that’s sifted from the seam
Rolls along an ancient bed
Never born and never dead
Never knowing hope or dream
Almost motionless, but free
For close to an eternity
Coloured wings on weathered clay
One tastes life for just a day
One slowly erodes away
Both are changing in their way
