The butterfly with painted wings

A wrote a little phrase,

and tied it neatly with a string.

Sometimes I fear,

that inspiration might not be to near.

The little scroll butterfly,

may silently float away.

Impervious be I,

and sit so proudly.

Yet encased in a bubble,

floating towards the spring sun,

my little butterfly,

painted with yellow wings.

I added some red,

hope that it may not look sad,

just a pinch of pink,

so that I and others may think.

Why not a wisp of blue,

dotting the rim of the wings,

may be it a sky?

An ocean?

And when my butterfly passes,

one may laugh, or

another may sing.

Higher and higher,

shall this tiny butterfly pervade,

until the rain showers down,

yet when that happens

all her colors shall spread,

all amongst the land,

and paint a rainbow upon the boulevard,

Give the lady her blushing rosy cheeks,

give the boy a clean blue suit.

give the tiny girl, and wide white grin.

All grey shall evanesce,

or may it mix in well.

A poem can bring a world of colors,

and paint the earth blue and green.