A butterfly upon the breeze
Might have its own philosophy;
Without concerns, it floats at ease
And joys in its fragility.
Its view of life, with time so short,
Must be unlike the one I hold —
And yet perhaps it would retort
That my night too will soon grow cold.
(cf. Daybreak, ยง553)
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Peter Saint-Andre > Writings > Nietzsche > Songs of Zarathustra