Not one of my favorites … so I’ve included only two stanzas here. I love the idea that a beautiful butterfly craves the poisonous milkweed plant — something very film noir about that. That stanza has some nice alliteration, too.

Enriched, the monarch beams,
Orange-brown glory rich and ablaze;
Turning peasants into gentility,
Lo, weeks to seven Sundays!

Then, furtive and flitting,
Artfully, it changes speeds.
(Unabashed in its fondness for flowers,
It craves the deadly milkweed.)