Upon a windowsill sits a butterfly
softly landing to take a rest.
Many miles yet to travel,
a moments respite then heading West.
Gazing through the open window
like a mirage the flame invites
To seek pleasures of selfish yearning,
beware young butterfly better take flight.
Cleaving to the hope of enchantment
through the window you did fly.
Need for warmth impedes your wisdom
the dancing flames laugh with delight.
within the hearth consciousness surrenders
to the portal that now is death.
For a moment of blind pleasure
you succumbed to the seductive trance.