She spoke of her sight,
Of a butterfly's wings and the silent wind.
Of ancient memories that were lost to me,
Where the milky stars could all be seen.

She spoke of her cocoon,
Of muddy branches and golden leaves.
Of an endless age that told tall tales,
Where Valour and Honour were all conceived.

She spoke of her gentle babe,
Of deep ebony lashes soft and candy sweet.
Of a wonderous giggle that melted the heart,
Where her endless love would forever start.

She spoke of her aching heart,
Of trembling cages and shuddering valves.
Of the midnight cries that wished to fade,
Where the empty vessel had once played.

She spoke of her fragile hands,
Of soulful clouds and rising suns.
Of a dreamless sleep that vanished in the mist,
Where the flutterby butterfly had lost its wings.