I lost your
beauty so long ago.
Youth burst from the chrysalis.
It's ebullience breathing through
transparency. Veins
soft sketches, almost
sharing a new
vision.
The journey I flew
was through the
silk of skies and the
yellows of early dew.
Today's
unrelenting
push to old age.
I am remembering you
who left when I was
not ready. Time
is a scar on the scrapbook
washed mornings. .
My aging butterfly not
glistening now but scrapes
of flowers, my aches
are echoes.
I was wrong. You were
not aware of my wings.
Butterflies were my
companions when each
Spring moved on wheels.
You never knew.
Butterflies now are
little ticks of old wings.
Sorrow the
yellow tears after
long flights when
you were unaware
Of
How
Much
I Needed
You.
Caroline Shank
3.13.26
Mar 13
Mar 13, 2026 at 7:14 PM UTC
I lost your
beauty so long ago.
Youth burst from the chrysalis.
It's ebullience breathing through
transparency. Veins
soft sketches, almost
sharing a new
vision.
The journey I flew
was through the
silk of skies and the
yellows of early dew.
Today's
unrelenting
push to old age.
I am remembering you
who left when I was
not ready. Time
is a scar on the scrapbook
washed mornings. .
My aging butterfly not
glistening now but scrapes
of flowers, my aches
are echoes.
I was wrong. You were
not aware of my wings.
Butterflies were my
companions when each
Spring moved on wheels.
You never knew.
Butterflies now are
little ticks of old wings.
Sorrow the
yellow tears after
long flights when
you were unaware
Of
How
Much
I Needed
You.
Caroline Shank
3.13.26
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