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On Watching A Dead Butterfly

Who put the silver on its wings
In whimsied spots like metal dust
surrounding velvet and brown rust

Was it the wind that stirred its death
And fluttered them on summer's floor
Or ebbing life to fly no more

Our love was birds and butterflies
Flying to dance in summer's glow
As flames of passion's wind did blow

I held on tightly as we watched
Love's beauty crushed by fingers cold
Into a mask of heartless gold

From grasping palm a broken wing
Slips, dances downward as I cry
Fists twisted, cursing at the sky

Sad fragments carried to my room
at dusk to keep remembering
the silver and the pain of wings.

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