My dear, you are like a butterfly,

whom fly's too fast and low.

Once laying there beside me,

Blown away in a gust of wind,

Gone.

Like an ancient melody.

Was sweet as a blooming flower,

Turned sour.  

And stale with age,

Sitting and rotting in the sun like grapes.

My dear, you.

Are like a Caterpillar,

Crawling like a bug among the leaves on the ground.

Eating away the love left behind,

In an rotting heap,

A mound of pedals dying there,

Waiting for you to tend to them.

In the park where we once starred,

And watched the stars as we once did,

And held your hand as lovers do.

But my dear,

Like a butterfly,

Once there in the summer,

You were gone by the 4th of July.

And now it's its just me.

Starring where you once stood,

Admiring your empty cocoon.