On pleated petals spun from gold
a butterfly paused from her flight,
for sunbeams pressed in every fold
had summoned her from lofty height.

She must have felt the pull to light
on pleated petals spun from gold
when every bloom seemed to invite
her rest upon a marigold.

So with her journey put on hold
in Grandma's garden bold and bright,
on pleated petals spun from gold
she spent her sojourn in delight.

I still can feel my heart ignite
when thinking of those days of old,
when I saw butterflies alight
on pleated petals spun from gold.