In the garden, she loves to watch them flutter by

As she holds up her hand softly waiting on a butterfly

To quietly, softly glide into a landing on her hand

My beautiful daughter seems to sweetly understand

That some things cannot be pushed or forced

Least the other might feel injured or coerced

One of her favorite times is to watch the monarch migration

As she sings to herself and dances in a swirled imagination

That she too might somehow, one day learn how to fly

And I as her father find myself choking back on my reply

Better to let her dream of such magical things I think

Time and age will wizen her and bring her back from the brink

But for now, I think I will just let her believe in her dreams

Than to discourage her as she metamorphizes into an adult human being