Butterfly, Butterfly

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Butterfly, Butterfly

Butterfly, butterfly I use to love you,

But you took flight from me in the end;

And now I ponder what this makes me,

I wish I knew.

 

A seductive time mistress whispers softly

Calling me upon the very edge of the earth

I quite moment of haunting longing kindly

It might transport me to a narrowing dearth

A spirit so lively.

 

Joys of the day spring to the sun of morning

A lasting hope very tender, sweet and strong

Talking on forever a knowing wisdom singing

Of dreams, of heart not forgotten or undone

These bonds so true.  

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Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

maxskyfan’s Poems (12)

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