From my room I can see a golden figure

Swathed in robes in a desert landscape

It does not move nor do the winds disturb its fabrics

I was born in a sunny doorway on a bright Spring day

And as a child knew that I had butterfly wings

I kept these hidden in case I was mocked or suffered ridicule

Only my beautiful and gentle mother knew my secret

I now live in North Africa in a simple house at the deserts edge

It was not my choice but the pressures became too much for me

Here I am accepted by the local people who understand my condition

There are some who watch me glide on the evening breezes

Just before the sun sets in luxury behind the darkening dunes

A photograph or two is all that I will allow

As I always fly deep into the light of the dying sun