When, I try to bag some butterflies, A kid in me hops and flies, I enjoy watching their flapping wings, Of twenty colurs and ten sizes. In sunflower fields I run like swan, Pulling the dusk and pushing the dawn, Barefeet and empty mind, Happiness in fall, I find. Then I open the lid and let them go, Their feeling, I well know, Tired, I sleep, dissolved in chill winds, Like some orchid in cave of snow. -viui.