In the garden in the back by the fence,
 Toward the end of the narrow brick path
 And near the shade of the bordering oaks,
 The butterfly hovers in silence. 
  
 Skimming salvia, lantana, and milkweed,
 Sampling flowers, cluster to cluster,
 It alights on a young fire bush
 Not two feet in front of me.
  
 It spreads its wings out and then down
 Till they lay on the orange red blossoms.
 Fingers crossed, it will stay for a while;
 I suspect I’ll not move till it’s gone.