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