Pike caught a butterfly
Or maybe ’twas a bee.
It bit him, stung him, loved him
And was beautiful to see.
It kissed his nose, stomped his toes,
Sang a haunting melody
With a high-pitched finch
And vibrato-wobbled flea
In honor of young Pike
Before it cursed him handsomely
And then flew on.
A beetterfly? Maybe.