The butterfly jeopardized her soul for survival
Giving power to her wings waiting for the savior’s arrival
It looked towards the stars staring at her as a rival
She was not one of them and not even a tribal
Feeling so secluded and violated, she looked towards Nature
Her preoccupation and misery made her lose faith in its portraiture.
Her soul lost its texture and shades
Wanting no more but some aides
That could sharpen its paints and blades
But nothing is free, so there were trades
In having a rivalry with the sky and its creatures
She had to lead a prolonged life with the treachers.