Butterflies.

Ever wonder how they get the name?

For different shapes and varied sorts;

Brush-foots, Monarchs and Swallowtails,

With myriad colors, like flowers' same.

From half an inch, to a foot across;

Their marked wings flutter pixie dust,

Looks so surreal sure enough,

But catch one though, it's such a loss.

Tasting nectar through their feet;

Finding mates and laying eggs,

Pairing pollen all along,

Only living twelve months neat!

Enduring the cycle through,

Squirm at first, fly at last;

Struggle to win, a dictum true

We feel "butterflies" when anxious too!

                                                           -Amogh Inamdar