Butterflies come from tiny eggs,
Hatches to a Caterpillar with many legs.
Here it eats the leaves of the plant,
Its food supply cannot be scant.
It changes again to the pupa stage,
A butterfly is it's adult age.
Some species live for only days,
While others can amaze,
Several months they can survive,
And in our gardens thrive.

The butterfly cannot at first fly
It needs to wait until it's dry.
The wings with fluid do need to fill,
It sits and waits so very still.
At last it is able to use its wing
And flies away to explore spring.

The wings are transparent - clear.
So delicate and very sheer.
With tiny scales to reflect the light,
It's colours we see very bright.
This can help them camouflage,
To blend in, in nature's grand collage.
Others choose to stand right out,
Tricking predators into some doubt,
That poisonous this bug may be,
So from it they would rather flee.
They migrate when it gets too cold,
In spring return in manifold.

Now for their food they cannot chew.
It's like a straw that they drink through.
Their tongue is like a tube in a curl,
And when they eat, it they unfurl.
Their food they taste with their feet,
They like it to be extra sweet.
They feed mostly on nectar from flowers,
And drink from puddles after showers.
They may feed on rotting fruit,
Or the sap of a tree shoot.

This beautiful creature does us grace,
And it's presence we embrace.
With them our garden comes alive,
And joy we do derive.
It's beauty seen through warmer seasons,
Giving many appreciative reasons,
To go outside and enjoy spring,
Happiness they bring.

Poem by Sourcherry
Photographs from Pixabay