Heaven's drunkard is the butterfly, <br />Tipsy on flowers, Mr. flutter-on-by: <br />Papier-mache wings wafting along, <br />He flies on currents of invisible song. <br /> <br />He could stop but the flowers are so many, <br />Beckoning with pastel faces of plenty; <br />At night he dreams of hot-house bouquets, <br />And dances with them, a fine polonaise.<br /><br />Patti Masterman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/heaven-s-drunkard/
