Standing violently against storm
swift swirling winds entangles of being him
growing into bloom of peaceful contentment
he promised her to get thronless pretty flowers
with a blind passion,
converted into obsession,
turning joys to beholders,
dreams to nightmares,
deep faith to blue funk,
stinging pains to intruders,
She perceive, "Butterflies doesn't dream of moss"
And transited herself from soft velvet petals into idyllic wildflowers
