A butterfly flutters
Atop a dark stained flower
Bruised but comely, the flower still is
And the flyer in a gown rests
On sturdy petals, before she sees
And smells the beauty of her host
To soothe herself she must drain away
A portion of life from this she sees
And though his beauty akin to her own
And though she feels one in soul
Yet she must by nature feast
And the flower, blackens some more
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