The Futile Chase
Flapping its wings, It hopped, From one flower to another; Creating a beautiful sight, With bright hue and colour. She was running behind to catch; Working hard, And sweating her way, To take it in her grasp. But as they say; The closer you go, The farther it flies away. Not the story of a day, Continued for ages - the play; She would run through the garden, Just to do - a futile chase. One fine day, The realization dawned; She sat peacefully, Enjoying the sun go down; Getting absorbed, In the lovely vista it formed. Made her happy, She exuded charm; Her pleasant fragrance, Adorned the air around. Cynosure she became, Calm and composed - was her frame; Not bothered by the worry and hurry, Not smothered by the thoughts of pain. Who else, But the butterfly itself, Leaving the flowerbeds, Made its way; To steal the nectar from her smile, And enjoy the caress of her breath.