The Butterfly


Whose Butterfly is that? I think I know.
Its owner is quite sad though.
It really is a tale of woe,
I watch him frown. I cry hello.
He gives his Butterfly a shake,
And sobs until the tears make.
The only other sound's the break,
Of distant waves and birds awake.
The Butterfly is gentle, caring and asleep,
But he has promises to keep,
Until then he shall not weep.
He lies in bed with ducts that creep.
He rises from his bitter bed,
With thoughts of sadness in his head,
He idolises being dead.
Facing the day with never ending dread

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems


Share This Poem