• Chase that golden butterfly,

    Wings like fine filigree.

    Fluttering so daintily,

    Shining so faintly,

    In the woozy summer glare.

    Nearing the treasure, hands upraised,

    Grab at it quickly, feeling so dazed.

    Wince, as it slices through flesh,

    Those wings of golden steel;

    It's out of grasp once more.

    Yet persevere, it's too soon to give up,

    You say it every time.

    Object of desire,

    Lingering so close,

    And still too far to imagine.

    Tell me, if one fateful day,

    Your efforts really do pay,

    Whatever shall you see?

    Scars on your palm,

    For each failed attempt,

    Trophy of your undying arrogance.

    Soon, that sweet prize shall be,

    Beauty at its peak.

    Shriveling to pale butterscotch,

    Growing so frail and meek.

    Lost in a desolate daydream,

    Reality deters to dust.

    Your mind forever sees,

    The glimmer of golden lust.

    You've forgottan true elation,

    In such a frivolous quest.

    Nothing remains,

    But an empty, dying moth.