Where does the butterfly go
When all the flowers are gone?

From whence does he pull a draught
Of nectar to soothe his body and mind?

His wings falter at the cutting breeze
For ‘tis already the cusp of winter.

He no longer has the healing tonic
Of her blossom as night falls down

And so he succumbs to his fate
Laying down in the freezing dew

Dreaming of the days of spring-
Of the orchid bud he once knew.

The colour of her lips were so deep
That I could not leave the room to sleep
For her beauty made my soul leap.

I could not forget her lovely eyes
Or say my goodbyes
For in her mind held all the skies.

Her laugh filled my heart
To the point I could not part
For she spoke the literary art.

Yet I no longer needed to sigh
For there, a clue, on her thigh
As an orchid did lie:

Just as the sun loves the moon
Again I shall have the ultimate boon
With the new day I could again enjoy her rune.

So as I bid my adieu
I pondered on the truth I now knew:
We will speak again after the morning dew.

She says I shouldn't love her;
She says she’s not real:
Just a pixie girl, a
Nymph of my dreams.

Indeed, I questioned her
Reality from the first day
And I finally decided believing
Was better than her not being.

She says I shouldn't love her
Because her job isn't the
Most respectable and I
Should find someone better

But one does not judge a book
By the cover, or how many
Fingerprints mark its glossy bindings,
But instead based on what’s inside.

Her appearance may have been
What first caught my eye, as the
Covers of books usually do,
But when I began reading

Page after page, I knew
I had fallen in love, truly
In love, with the content
Of the book called Bex Olivia.