Joolie
The bread and butterflies
wake to taste your morning dew,
though innocent they seem
their intentions will not do,
each grabs a curly lock
and pulls you to their side,
laughs so small only flowers fathom
into the mud you slide,
not a tear escapes your eye
no, not a single one,
you sit and wait patiently
they no not what they've done,
a moon struck black book
rises from the goopy mud,
and all the bread and butterflies
they all turned into blood...
Copyright © Desiree Tatarazuk | Year Posted 2005
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