Chasing Butterflies

I chase the butterfly
to capture its beauty

but

it rightly flees
just out of reach
of my coarse fingers.

The butterfly prefers
the passivity of a flower
which demands
nothing of it
and graciously
provides sustenance

as well as a place to rest.

An epiphany of purpose
manifests in my mind. 
My hands turn the soil
and plant the seeds.
Time and toil see a
flower garden grow.

I wait for the butterfly
to return, better prepared 

and less needy,

but if it doesn’t come back
I now have a garden.

***