Start your little life,
stretch your wings.
Flutter about until you're no longer afraid of falling.
Within these hands
that you now rest,
have hearts blackened and then vanished away.
Sip some nectar
from your favorite flower.
Just make sure you're home by the hour.
YOU ARE READING
Tears of a Butterfly
RandomMeh, a poem. Why not. I'm in a creative mood. Plus, I've had this thing for two years. It deserves a bit o' love. (There'll be more than one poem.)
