AND THE BUTTERFLIES FELL...

Mourning sun sinks in defeat,
As the funereal night blooms,
Shrouding the dregs of shrivelled springs of joy.
The sky brims with defaced stars and broken hearts,
As the butterflies crash into the callous ground,
Wings ripped apart-shorn off their undeserved glory.

And it rains snow,
Bitter-cold like the grumbling hag,
Burying the dahlias and lobelias,
As the butterflies crash into the callous ground,
Wings ripped apart-shorn off their undeserved glory.

Gloom peels layers incessantly,
As sadism embarks on its reign,
And the butterflies crash into bottomless pits,
Wings ripped apart-shorn off their undeserved glory.

Then the mellow winds blow,
Taking with it their magnificence,
Leaving behind festered worms,
Where blue eyes once sought butterflies.

And the yellowing leaves rustled as they said "There lay no beauty in their undeserved glory"