The crimson flower offered its shoulder
while you, the butterfly pass by
You knew you're not here to stay
Yet its color catches your eye.
The thorn warned the flower,'Psst,'Do not attach,
For a butterfly cannot mend its ways
A momentary presence is all you will get
before the butterfly takes flight away.
The flower blushes on, in denial,
With its every petal, and ignorant chaste
The butterfly, enraptured and tantalized
feeds on the flowers sweet taste
It hovers around longer than usual
making the flower convinced indeed
For what the butterfly itself lacked,
the flower knew: It fills complete
And thus the flower bloomed,
but for whom?
You are not here to stay.
'For that #!%$ transient butterfly!!',
the thorn fumed
But why?
You are not here to stay
Then soon of course, comes a time
When true to its nature
the butterfly ups and leaves
in search of other flowers;
to hover,
to attach,
to feed.
And yet
The flower bloomed,
The flower bloomed,
but for whom?
You were not here to stay,
Regardless of a predicament that is doomed
Even when you are not here to stay.
