i trudge along the heated sidewalk,
head bowed to avoid the sun’s smouldering
glare, when something catches my eye

oh delicate butterfly,
were you put under the magnifying glass
to be observed in this intense light?
how unfortunate it is that your beauty has
crippled you this awful way

to think that it’s supposedly a “beautiful” day
your destroyer is probably laughing,
being his carefree five-year-old self,
bathed in the rays of an imposing sun

yet you do not blame him, oh butterfly,
for forgetting you after you’ve lost your wings
and become the desolate pile of ashes
mourning love at my feet