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Death of a butterfly (Original)
Upon the rose, upon the green,
The single rose that stood up tall,
Among the tarmac, among the grass,
Not a single petal there did fall,
Upon that stem, upon that flower,
A butterfly sunned her colorful wings,
Gifted with beauty, gifted with grace,
She fluttered there within the winds,
The mood did change, the clouds did shift,
To block the skies from which came light,
The rain did fall and the gales blew fast,
Knocking her off, stealing her right,
They stole the magic, from upon her wings,
They took the power that allowed her to fly,
And the small little butterfly went with the winds,
Carrying her along to die.
