{"id":50574,"date":"2019-06-22T16:08:32","date_gmt":"2019-06-22T20:08:32","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/?p=50574"},"modified":"2019-06-22T16:08:32","modified_gmt":"2019-06-22T20:08:32","slug":"the-butterfly","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/2019\/06\/the-butterfly\/","title":{"rendered":"The butterfly"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>Her wings felt papery in the wind,<\/p>\n<p>Her eyes dotted by black,<\/p>\n<p>She had never felt such a ravenous hunger,<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>Any minute she would pass out,<\/p>\n<p>Her wings would stop,<\/p>\n<p>And slowly she would fall to the ground,<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>The harsh winds threw themselves against her,<\/p>\n<p>And she struggled to stay aflight,<\/p>\n<p>As she navigated the dark forest,<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>But then, when it looked as if all hope was lost,<\/p>\n<p>She had come to a clearing,<\/p>\n<p>A place where the trees came to an end, and the darkness evaporates<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>In front of her, in the middle of the clearing,<\/p>\n<p>Was a house, surrounded by a white picket fence,<\/p>\n<p>And she smelt something sweet coming from behind that picket fence,<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>Her stomach gasped at the smell,<\/p>\n<p>And she was drawn to it,<\/p>\n<p>She flew over the fence, and into the garden, in a daze,<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>Then, she spotted a bench,<\/p>\n<p>And on it, slices of beautiful, orange fruit,<\/p>\n<p>She could almost taste it&#8217;s sweet flesh, and she had to have some,<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>She spotted a chunky slice near the edge of the bench,<\/p>\n<p>There were others there too,<\/p>\n<p>But she couldn&#8217;t care less,<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>She dive down to the slice,<\/p>\n<p>She placed her lips on it,<\/p>\n<p>And, savoury every drop, she drank,<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>The juice filled her up,<\/p>\n<p>And quinched that hunger,<\/p>\n<p>After a while she stopped,<\/p>\n<p>For the first time in a long time, she was full<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Her wings felt papery in the wind, Her eyes dotted by black, She had never felt such a ravenous hunger, &nbsp; Any minute she would pass out, Her wings would stop, And slowly she would fall to the ground, &nbsp; The harsh winds threw themselves&#8230;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1309,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[11],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-50574","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-half-marathon-poem"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/50574","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1309"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=50574"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/50574\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":50881,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/50574\/revisions\/50881"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=50574"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=50574"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=50574"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}