I saw a Monarch butterfly
Just now inside the park
And thought of the unlikelihood of Mexico
Where his breed is bound to go.
Best to giddyap, I said, the days
Are getting dark and cold.
You’ve got some tracks to make.
And then I did a double-take —
My God, how just like me, to throw
My guardedness on one who has
No use for such a thing,
Whose very wings could not be guessed
When he was born, a transformation
Out of probability. Self, I said,
In a world where caterpillars fly
A thousand miles arrayed for Hallowe’en
On pinions thin as gossamer
Against the wind, who the hell am I
To caution anything?

— Gerald Blake Storrow