Suppose you were a butterfly
A special, beautiful creature.
With bulbous head and stick-thin body ,
And feather wings of pink and gold.
Suppose you were a butterfly
On a bright summer day.
Flitting about the garden...
Empty hungry, sucking nectar from flowers,
Trying to get your fill.
And though you try, the nectar is never enough ...
And you wish you were a caterpillar again, young, sated and happy
With not a care in the world.
But its too late, you cannot turn back ...
So for the rest of your very short life
You flit about the wildly-bright garden,
Trying to find the brightest flower, the sweetest nectar -
You never will really be full, will you?
You, cursed in the pursuit of happiness,
To flit and flutter from thing to thing and
Never finding the answer.
I was told that butterflies were the souls of people and now I know why.
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