A butterfly I thought I saw -
with snow-like wings the field explore;
the smiling grass you flitted on -
your fragile beauty caught my eye -
I then gave chase – with longing sigh -
but blinked then looked – and you were gone.
A spider in its place I found -
poised motionless; beneath – around -
was spread your soft, alluring web,
which with a thousand charms was wrought,
where helpless like a fly I'm caught -
snared in the lair of passion's ebb.
The spider fled – around my head
a boisterous bee I heard instead;
with clumsy curiosity
you caused commotion then me teased -
threatened to sting me if you pleased -
with piercing kisses shower me.
The bee vanished - last on my hand
I felt a beetle soundless land;
in nature's duties deep absorbed -
so delicate I feared to crush
your tiny dome of colours lush -
of quaintest red with speckles daubed.
All these things – Emelie – are you
and more - a puzzle with no clue,
a horde of creatures in a box;
yet each is neither right nor wrong,
just notes that form your varied song,
song rich with strangest paradox.