DREAMING BUTTERFLIES

In the dewy morning, dreaming butterflies laugh, and the lake's shiny braids sway quietly announcing the joy of life. There, by that lake, butterflies comb their hair with the sun's rays behind velvet dreams and dim lights. There, behind my journey, I will go out with the dew-wet birds to the field early, and collect the stories of the shadow, and what the dreaming butterflies have forgotten. I melt into the scent of flowers that permeate the pores of my body and the depths of my memory, becoming brighter with every butterfly I find in our quiet field. Oh, how wonderful are those butterflies that fly on summer mornings, drawing paths for me to wander like a dreaming ghost who cannot be seen.