Farther up the hill

A butterfly yesterday morning

crossed the snowy April fields,

I suppose he was chasing his fancy

farther up the hill.

But then he veered from flight,

wild flowers down by the brook

had called to him quietly,

to come take a look.

He danced among the flower tops

twirling to a silent tune,

he dipped and dove behind them

I lost him from view.

I hurried to see what was the matter

and felt saddened by the sight,

the web was hastily patterned

silver shining in the light.

Caught unprepared by the late snow,

as the butterfly must have been

the spider had only half a net

but his first catch was in.

It was not up to me to decide

I had not the will,

but still I thought the butterfly

straining to fly

farther up the hill.