I remember once when I was young --
even younger than yesterday,
I tamed a butterfly, yes, I did.
At least it seemed that way.
I didn't have to catch him;
he just lit upon my finger,
and he did not fly as I walked about.
No, he lingered.
And I smiled at my butterfly friend.
Yes, he was my friend.
For when he would fly to catch the wind,
he would also fly back again.
And I could pass him from hand to hand,
and he would hold on tight.
And once I let him crawl on my nose,
and he flew away alright,
when I sneezed because it tickled.
But he flew back again.
When he decided to leave, I let him go,
because, you see, he was my friend.

From age 17