Elusive Butterflies

It seems that we for catching butterflies
Do lie as still and quiet as we can and wait--
To wait for those small gentle creatures
To land upon our lengthened hand.

In fact, it seems the more their wings
Do catch the fancy of our eye--
The brighter their color as they fly--
The more we think we still must be. 

So, when upon the one come we
that be most beautiful of all,
We find that we, instinctively,
Do lie as still as possible:

We freeze; don't breathe;
And slightly then avert the eye;
And with outstretchéd arm
Await in hope the butterfly.

Yet if in stillness we do stand,
But be not thus a flower more,
What chance the more do then we have
At last to so achieve our goal?

Conversely though, how could we
Ever expect the grace
Of our lovely butterfly
Were we to sudden give it chase?