Elusive Butterflies

How did eleven years pass so quickly?
When I said this to Sondra one day at her place,
I detected a hint of delight in her face.
So I said, “Please don’t tell me again you surmise,
that time passes so fast due to my butterflies!”

(For she often would put the blame on them with glee,
  and it would trigger anger from the heart of me.
  I could tell by her grin which was now overkill,
  my poor butterflies were just more grist for her mill.)

Sondra shrugged her thin shoulders and straightened the rug
all the while composed with a grin framed with smug.
Then when I lurched my head so to receive reply,
she positioned her arms like she wanted to fly.

(I had seen this routine before--O what a range!
  When a butterfly bigot acts up it is strange.
  There I sat at the table becoming quite wroth
  as she flittered around as if she were a moth.)

Her indictment of butterflies went on galore
as she lighted the oven and flittered some more.
Then she batted her lashes and gave me a wink,
and with delicate feet she alit by the sink.

I said, “Sondra, O Sondra, why do you protest?”
“Putting blame on my butterflies fritters your zest.”
So I now only offer her the time of day,
yet she still thinks the butterflies hasten my say.

(25 Lines)