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

a drop of rain

The steps you take are big

where mine are small,

the steps I take are soft

while yours make imprints.

For now it seems that I am lazy

as you wipe sweat off your brow,

try to understand my empathy

for oak trees rooted to the ground,

and take heed in the soil, though I may

not make a sound, a drop of rain

breathing life, the only way I know how.