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.