“Do I have no original thought in my head?”

Said the butterfly, flittering onto my brow.

“Do I have no original thought in my head?”

These alone were the nine words his mouth would allow.

For variety, sometimes, he’d switch it around:

“In my head no original thought do I have?”

But again, only nine words he spoke. Now I frowned.

“In my head no original thought do I have?”

Did he wish me to answer? What could I reply?

If the answer was “yes”, how could he understand?

If the answer was “no”, wherefore was it that I

Was the one addressee he discovered at hand?

But rebuffing quick answer, I pondered the query,

Deceptively simple, yet hard to unpack.

Did an answer elude me? He seemed in a hurry

To flitter to brows having far greater knack.

“Do I have no original thought in my head?”

Did he ask it again, or did I ask it for him?

Does no one have original thought in his head?

What’s original thought? Nearly did I implore him.

But off he goes, fluttering. Where, I can’t guess.

“Do I have an original thought in my head?”

Hark! A tenth word he speaks! Is it “no”? Is it “yes”?

He is too far, alas! I can’t hear what he said.