Oh, these ragged wings
|
Oh, these papery things
|
Ah but strong am I
|
I can fly and fly
|
I'm the king, am I
|
Earthly winds I ride for miles and miles
|
|
I've been biding time
|
At the over-wintering site
|
Where the firs are fine
|
And the mountains high
|
The winter months we like
|
This habitat for us is perfectly designed
|
|
Lepidopterists are pleased
|
Know it took them years to find me
|
In nineteen seventy-five
|
Discovery arrived
|
In Mexico the prize
|
This is where we hide
|
But still you wonder why
|
We are so dramatically inclined
|
To live this migratory life
|
|
Lives like ours rely
|
On seasonal plants which die
|
And soil gets too dry
|
And sunlight does grow nigh
|
We travel 'til we find
|
A host by which our darling hatchlings will survive
|
|
A green tender shoot
|
Asclepiads bloom
|
Fragrant firework
|
Cardenolides usurp
|
Aposematics work
|
Assiduously we searched
|
And though it won't be me
|
My progeny will surely see
|
Their return to the prairies
|
|
-----------------
|
Following The Sun
|
| Mirah |
