Died in February

A blot of red
A whip of yellow
With wings of glass
And a smile so mellow.

Kiss blue flowers
Chase brown bees
Hop on fine grass
Roll over leaves.

Sun rays so fine
Whistled all her blues
They were her chums
And she was theirs too.

One ray then promised
Two wings of a bird
But he was lying
It was his third.

There were no wings
No sun, no joy
His world was ruthless
She became a toy.

The reds were fading.
And the yellows now gone
A smile so distant
Destiny’s unfortunate pawn.

On the last day of winter
She smiled at her past
Lying on the final flakes of white,
A butterfly breathed her last.

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