"Oh, how lovely!" they coo,

At wings that shimmer like stained glass.

But I've seen the truth behind

This flying façade.

Creep closer —

Past the hypnotic wing-dance,

Beyond the rainbow sparkle.

What do you see?

A bristled nightmare:

Six spindly legs writhing,

Each hair a tiny plague-bearer,

Each step leaving invisible trails

Of pollen and pestilence.

That proboscis —

A coiled horror

Unfurling like a spring-loaded trap,

Probing, seeking, slurping.

Nature's syringes in miniature.

Don't be fooled by wing-art,

Those floating scraps of deception.

Beneath lies the truth:

A dark body, 

An insect's soul,

A crawler dressed in butterfly's clothing.

They drift through gardens

Like living watercolors,

But I know better —

Each flutter spreads disease,

Each landing leaves destruction,

Beauty masking mayhem.

So next time one dances past,

Remember my warning:

That "beautiful" butterfly

Is just a moth in makeup,

A virus with wings.