Weeping For Butterflies
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I stood and stared at vivid things
Yellows, white, and neon blues,
From tiny ones, with tiny wings
To graceful giants, in lustrous hues.
There were dandies garbed in polka dots
Others bore alluring eyes,
Some wore shimmering silver spots
As mother nature donned disguise.
Yet for those butterflies I wept,
Their wondrous ruses to no avail,
For in glass cases they are kept,
Collected, killed, and then impaled.
Entry for 'Impaled' poetry contest
Sponsored by Anthony Slausin.
22/7/2019. Placed 1st.
Copyright © Gary Smith | Year Posted 2019
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