There was a meadow, where I would chase through,
Where emerald blades, welcome, fulfilled
Butterflies and I, who’d always pursue;
Driven by the thoughts, not yet stilled.
The springs of my needs abound so lonely;
From your short breaths, I’d felt a voice,
But empathy is lost, in the jars, where they’re only –
The way I kept you, for I had no choice.
As I think in the shade of my next ordained flight,
Beneath me, your arms reach out to break through.
With the next fluttered wing, I’ll drift out of sight,
Stopping again, where I’ve buried you.
