When Butterflies Were Band-aids

Look me in my heartache

And tell me there’s a cure

When butterflies were band-aids

Where fact and fiction blur

Speak to me in virtues

The one’s I’m pickled for

When only field’s were diamonds

And playgrounds left you sore

Hold me in your sorrow

With hands so soft and pure

When bedtime meant tomorrow

Was absolutely sure

Hear me as the willows

Send shivers down your spine

When fluff was just for pillows

Where wonder’s in the pine

Sense me in my mourning

For those yet to be fed

When fear meant it was pouring

Where Rover was still red

Send prayers if you still got em

Though mine have long since fled

This well’s filled from the bottom

Where sailboats are led

The butterfly in question

The butterfly in question

Steady flapping wings

A frenzy of direction

Who does not question me

Seven months & Two days since

Seven months &

Two days

since…

Nothing really makes sense,

does it? Didn’t then,

doesn’t now!

Life just goes on until it doesn’t.

Like the envy of a caterpillar

for the beauty of a butterfly.