Contributed by George Kittell
I saw a monarch in the air,
Its resting place I knew not where;
The wind was of the north and east,
This moth's cocoon of late released.
It flapped its wings and then it sailed,
Born by the breeze, a bug so frail,
And slowly did it start to fall,
Then rose with wings of tattersall.
Again it tacked the tailing wind,
This butterfly with pinions finned;
O'er fields and flora still it flew,
Its resting place I nowhere knew.
A favorite moth of russet red,
That's known to migrate, it is said;
Now autumn and its sails are set
For a thousand years it yearly gets.
As quickly as it came it went --
By flapping, soaring somewhere bent;
Its resting place I knew not where,
Just glad to see it in the air.