In woods so wild, where prairies lie,

Where golden sunsets paint the sky,

A dance of grace, a sight to see,

The Monarch Butterfly is free.

A tapestry of orange hue,

With patterns bold and colors true,

They flutter by on fragile wings,

Like whispers carried by the springs.

Through seasons’ turn, they take flight,

A journey long, both day and night,

With compass set to southward bound,

Their ancient instincts they have found.

From milkweed bloom to northern shore,

A life’s pursuit they can’t ignore,

In metamorphosis, they transcend,

A symbol of hope, they portend.

In chrysalis of green and gold,

Transformation they uphold,

Emerging as a wondrous sight,

To grace the day, to own the night.

They dance upon the zephyr’s breath,

In twilight’s glow, they flirt with death,

Yet bravely face the winds that blow,

Their spirit strong, their path they know.

In Mexico’s embrace they rest,

A gathering, a monarch’s nest,

A congregation, millions strong,

A pilgrimage that’s ages long.

In homage to this regal band,

With quill in hand, I humbly stand,

To pen their tale, their legacy,

The Monarch’s flight, their mystery.

So let us cherish, protect, and mend,

The delicate wings that will transcend,

And like these butterflies, take flight,

To nurture nature’s pure delight.