She was
The Lost Planet Butterfly
Folded into a Time/Space
That could not hold her fanciful spirit
Finding mere matter
Too imperfect
To express her thoughts
Rainbows in the Moment
Laser edged Prisms
That dart far beyond
The cold grasp of any logic

And you gentle creature
What becomes of you?

Published by

Chyfrin the Celtic poet

Artist, Poet, Electrical/Biomedical Engineer, Actor, Playwright, Set construction, Educator, Lover of womankind and single malt scotch

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