The butterflies of my mind have been restless of late, never stopping to pollinate, often never to alight, lost in a frenzy of flight. That rose looks promising, but so does the daffodil as my butterflies dart from meadow to hill. Thoughts of a chaotic kind, swirling breezes of my mind, dipping low then rapid ascension, dancing butterflies with no control of attention. My mind is filled with beginnings of tiny flowers patiently waiting the butterflies' healing powers, but alas, the butterflies go darting past leaving fledging petals outcast. But yet the incomplete flowers wait, aware that one day the butterflies will propagate and the budding ideas of will unfold rare treasures bright and bold.