Butterfly, Butterfly

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Butterfly, Butterfly

Butterfly, butterfly I use to love you,

But you took flight from me in the end;

And now I ponder what this makes me,

I wish I knew.

 

A seductive time mistress whispers softly

Calling me upon the very edge of the earth

I quite moment of haunting longing kindly

It might transport me to a narrowing dearth

A spirit so lively.

 

Joys of the day spring to the sun of morning

A lasting hope very tender, sweet and strong

Talking on forever a knowing wisdom singing

Of dreams, of heart not forgotten or undone

These bonds so true.  

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Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion.

T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) American-English poet and playwright.

maxskyfan’s Poems (12)

Title Comments
Title Comments
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Butterfly, Butterfly 0
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