The butterfly smiles,
Bathing in her spotlight;
Leaving loose her wiles,
As she should, as she should.
Be it the peak of summer,
Or the nascent spring.
She would remain herself, a mummer,
As she should, as she should.

Come forth, oh metamorphic fall.
Bring on, the chills of winter.
She will continue to soar like nothing at all;
As she should, as she should.
But now you ask, “Why should she?”
Is it not obvious? her problems pale,
when compared to many.
So she resigns, to her

immortal facade to be.
As she would and as she should.