Alpine Lake I don't wanna row, row, row the boat

it fluttered around her, barely audible and yet- there was that voice, carried on the dust of the air. it's me, hi! mira tilted her head, gazing at the tiny thing with a sort of awe. it was not the sort of creature that mira would usually care for- she had a preference for the strong. but this tiny and delicate thing was like a beautuful little work of art. perhaps mira did not have the full capacity to appreciate it, and yet, no desire to harm or disturb it. it was no threat to her or her goals, thus she could let it be. and simply observe. 

the black rose will find its way home

was mira the black rose? did the butterfly know she was headed to moonspear, her birthplace and self-proclaimed home that she had a right to? no... no, there was no way. but it intrigued her still. and to wonder why this creature spent its time making poetry to someone like this dark beast? if she was a rose, what made her feminine or fragrant enough to be one? who was mira to even appreciate or reciprocate it? but no wolf had ever done such a thing for her, to allow her to be the recipient of this momentary art. in a way it was made more beautiful by this butterfly's temporary existence- in a day it could be snatched up by a frog, and then the lovely words would die with it. 

what is it like to fly? she wondered aloud, not sure if the insect would answer and yet curious. if mira could fly she had to imagine it would make life easier, and yet alas she would never know the feeling. the closest thing was standing at the tip of the highest mountain peak and gazing out into the wind.