Chasing Irish Butterflies

The four eyes on
the flame-colored wings 
of the peacock appear
to have eyes only
for a flower so prolific 
as to be an eyesore to
the meticulous gardener.
 
A long-distance traveler 
like the painted lady 
chooses not the dainty white
cups of the wood-sorrels, 
but the flashy yellow spikes
of a plant dismissed
as a weed. 
 
The brimstones, with
their lime green wings
and leaf-like veins, 
flock to it and even
the orange-tip butterfly
ignores the purple petals
of the periwinkle to choose 
a blossom twice its size. 
 
Remarkably, the flower 
attracting all the butterflies 
I was chasing 
was the dandelion, 
my mother’s favorite.