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### Topic

#### Butterfly (A Poem) (It Does Not Make Much Sense)

My SDB's, neatly lined up in rows,
arranged on my blue-white wall.
Filled with beans and spice and gas.
You want fruit? I've got it all.
And yet I look at this grid of boxes.
Meat from piggies and fiber from foxes.
Awesome stews and lots of loxes.
Nothing that matters that much.
What I want is a butterfly,
on a background of white.
So I can pass by it every day,
so it's clearly in sight.
When I walk from my front door
it'll be there, sky-blue.
(I know that I must not make
that much sense to you.)
but those grids of those boxes
lined neatly row by row,
is that all that I have to show?
there's nothing pretty there,
nothing prettier than beans,
and those aren't pretty at all,
it seems.
What I want is a butterfly,
preserved, on display.
So I can see it every day.
When I walk in my house I'll notice that blue.
The color of the sky.
You don't understand.
I don't have to rhyme.
It doesn't make sense.
Butterflies are all meant to die some day.
But if I could, in some way,
save one so it would last for the rest of time,
wouldn't that rhyme?

Posted 7 months ago by Sororia Rose | Permalink

### Replies

- Nice one! As always.
  Posted 7 months ago by Mal'akh | Permalink
- caterpillars are blue and butterflyish, kind of.
  Posted 7 months ago by nekomaki | Permalink
- Lovely!
  Posted 7 months ago by Thursday Soleil | Permalink