To The Butterfly (Sonnet)

Singing with the wind on petals,

Tiny Wings does not know any battles.

Lovely are the use it has,

Tell me butterfly what thought thou possess!

Thy is the world of beauty and joy,

And ours is the trembling Troy,

Where none wins but dreams shatter

And thou make the flower better.

Our hearts are the withered places,

Painted smiles do hide pale faces.

Make hurriedly them thy lovely seat.

Let them touch so tender feet.

Thy thought then no will be differ

From us if thy world we prefer.