A butterfly drifting through a June garden becomes the focus of a quiet, half-dreaming meditation. The speaker watches its erratic, circling flight and calls it an “aimless petal of the wind.” From the flowers’ perspective, the butterfly is a “drunken king of motion”—vivid, commanding, unpredictable. From the winds above, it is just “momentary indecision,” a tiny pause in something much larger. The speaker isn’t scolding the butterfly for its wandering; the advice is to “waver carelessly,” to embrace that soft aimlessness. By the end, the poem widens: the universe itself is imagined as a drowsy, sleeping figure whose arm turns in the same gentle, weird circles. The speaker’s tone is tender and slightly amused; it feels like watching something delicate and fleeting, not trying to fix it. The mood is dreamy, weightless, and a little strange, as if the butterfly’s small movements echo the slow turning of everything.
Advice to a Butterfly — Summary
Aimless petal of the wind, Spinning gently weird circles, To the flowers underneath You are a drunken king of motion; To the plunging winds above You are momentary indecision.
Aimless petal of the wind, Waver carelessly against this June. The universe, like you, is but The drowsy arm of stillness Spinning gently weird circles in his sleep.