You're pathetically ugly,
thats what they all say.
As they frolic together,
in the summer and play.
And I'm all alone,
all by myself.
Here in my tree,
with nobody else.
But the jokes on them,
and soon they will see.
All of this beauty,
that lives inside me.
For my time will come,
and some day real soon.
When I step outside,
of my self woven room.
In my beautiful colors,
so pleasing to eyes.
That is how this butterfly flies.

saint cynosure ( Ken Bennight )

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/butterfly-71/