Two Butterflies

Sitting in Connecticut, next to a brook,
In three hours, I can finish writing a book,
Only the birds are busy making a sound,
Black flies fly, their heads held high proud,
Two butterflies are making out in the sun,
The two are busy making a new little one,
It seems my presence bothers them not,
A bird approaching from their blind spot.
Oops, there were two butterflies making love,
A lesson learned:
When making love, look what’s hovering above,