Butterflies

A young man took a trail through nature,
To purge the city from his veins,
Grown weary of the smog,
He sits reclined upon this fae meadow,
Amidst fields of crimson and violet,
Like a therapists couch in the sticks,

Here be butterflies,
Like chitinous pixies,
Dancing upon stained-glass wings,
Ballet upon the soft gales of the valley,
Playing gaily betwixt this floral procession,
Wining and dining with the nectar of tulips,

One lands upon his finger,
Its wings gently flitting in the sun,
Embodying a sorcery of veldt,
Casting a spell of placidity upon his soul,
The young man finally exhales,
There is so much magic in nature.