A Collection of Poems and Writings of a Madwoman

Crow chasing a Butterfly

In twilight's grasp, where shadows softly play,
A crow takes flight, its wings a cloak of night,
With every beat, it carves the fading day,
A silhouette against the dying light.
Its onyx eyes, two burning coals of need,
Fix on a butterfly, both swift and shy,
Its painted wings a fleeting dream, a seed
Of longing caught within the crow's sharp cry.
Through tangled boughs and whispering leaves they weave,
A chase of instinct, neither will reprieve.

The butterfly, a dancer born of grace,
Glides on the wind, a masterpiece of hue.
Each turn and twirl defies the crow's dark chase,
A fragile beauty no shadow can subdue.
Yet still the crow, with hunger deep and raw,
Pursues its quarry through the waning day,
Its flight relentless, driven by a law
Older than time—this dance of hunt and prey.
And though the butterfly fights to elude,
The crow's resolve is fierce, its heart imbued.

And so it mirrors love's relentless pull,
The man who saw her light and couldn't stay away.
He, the crow, with hunger fierce and full,
She, the butterfly, who danced but wouldn't stay.
Her heart, a kaleidoscope of fears and dreams,
Fluttered beyond his reach, so wild, so free.
But he pursued, through shadows and moonlit beams,
His love a quiet plea for her to see.
Until one night, her flight slowed, her wings gave in—
And she found her home, at last, within his arms again.