Of many, I am aware—that to chase one I find rare—is but a folly, yea, a dream—since none are as rare as they seem.— This butterfly with wings of gold - is likely kin to those of old—which also sported spots alike— that, seen as this one, at twilight—would seem completely unique— to an experienced critique.
Yet, the chase has begun—in my attempts to net one—to better scrutinize detail—even though I may fail— to net the same one I first saw—that migrated from Arkansas—along with millions of its’ kind.—Yet, that one first saw, I hope to find.
Scattered upon bush and limb—I search with determination grim—intent upon netting the one—I really want before I’m done. - Since they are only passing through—and, on their way, the young ones grew, - that causes far more scrutiny—forcing my hopes to mutiny—when faced with the unlikely—that these bright colored, flightly—things of seeming colored air— that have landed everywhere—might make my task not worth the time.—
For some reason, now they climb—as with a unit of one—left behind are few to none.—After all my chasing them—in order to net just one gem— it appears they’re on their way—to land elsewhere by end of day.—My net slips from my grip—grazing but a wing tip— of the last one that was here— as I watch them disappear—Northward, to where they’ll regroup.—While some fly straight, some loop the loop— as if waving their goodbye.—An image stays in my mind’s eye.—While they were here, I did try—to net the I thought unique.—Now, I am left with the mystique—of not adding to my collection— before they left in all direction.
Although the chase was negative, - I am left contemplative—over what I would have done—had I, at last, netted one.
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