even in the butterfly's wings
with their symmetry
the ancient beauty
cast by nature
replaced by no other
that can not in turn
be undone

in the simple mystery
of a creature
that goes about the day
without concept
no direct affect
but to exist then die
it is only you and I
who have a choice

even in the sun
dancing dust particles
making fans with lines and light
spreading through trees along a path

even in the butterfly's wings
and all these simple things
that we deign the title of beauty
which we discover
then wish to keep
or pass onto memory
that does not need a snapshot
to hold so dear
am I being clear
it is only you and I
who have a choice