A butterfly
By Afanasyi Fet
You’re right. With the features airy
I’m nice in view.
All velvet with its living flattery –
Two wings, as truth.
Don’t ask: where from, where to
I fly indeed?
I sat on flower easy, too –
I breathe.
How long, without work and aim
I’d breathe?
Just now I’ll flash wings, stretch –
And flee.
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