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Oct 2015
The butterfly catchers net sat silently on a bed of frost,
Crisp catches of colour reflecting the Spring sun,
Lines of emerald to grace the walls of a London home.
Like dreams they lay still, an untouched memory.
An easy ****, gently executed and put to rest
To be remembered in the evening light
On a gentleman's windowsill.
Feminists keep fighting the butterfly catcher
Written by
   Sumina Thapaliya
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