Rhopalocera

Gently, softly, slowly landing
Tip of a miracle standing
Wells of floral nectaries
Pushing off to flit in trees
Hiding from winged predators
Multicolored coats of furs
None the outward beauty share
The inner grace see to compare
An English Rose of insect form
No humankind could laugh or scorn
A feathered peacock’s self is vain:
This animal; it has no bane
It wears its heart upon its sleeve
For everyone to plainly see

If only it were resilient
Rhopalocera the brilliant
Such a pity, for the life is short
For a beauty queen of the natural sort