"See papillon, the world’s only performing butterfly!

I am a hayseed,
My hair is milkweed,
My ears are made of leather,
They flap in windy weather.

I see the people working,
And see it working for them,
And so I want to join in,
But then I find it hurts me.

Poetry befriends and binds--

All butterflies know are 
songs and poetry and anything else they hear.

Not hot fire but a trick of phosphorescence.

Nobody ever suspects the butterfly."