From agony fell I, to listless dreams,
Forsaken moments, bleeding memories,
A forgotten web, pulling at the seams,
The burnt out star from Heaven’s treasuries.
Remembering the span of wings in flight,
The depth and breadth of oceans underneath,
Awakens sickly thoughts of human might,
With pins and glass to keep me from the heath.
The glittering of stars, I’ll never see,
I’m blinded, shackled, prisoner for life,
Impaled to wood, “This butterfly was free!”
The epitaph to nature’s bitter strife.
And yet, by heaven, I think my charms rare.
My beauty encased, nothing can compare.
I think a lot about pinned butterflies.