Seven full I counted there,
a yellow black and dancing swarm.
Like leaves upon the gentle sigh
of a freshly waking, stirring storm.
At first they numbered only three,
and then there leapt another, thrice.
When one more brought its pedals fro,
they stepped in time, but for a trice.
Stepped in time, their dance beguiled,
laughing flashing, like a child.
Each one in their own way wrought
with such fine care but never caught.
And while they dropped and always rising,
leaping near in circles full-
Monarchs quick in sunlight steeping,
all my breath and senses stole.
Each then up turned west and left,
like seven suns at dusking's set.
And when their waning fled in full
their absence swift beset my soul.
