The butterfly

Her wings felt papery in the wind,

Her eyes dotted by black,

She had never felt such a ravenous hunger,


Any minute she would pass out,

Her wings would stop,

And slowly she would fall to the ground,


The harsh winds threw themselves against her,

And she struggled to stay aflight,

As she navigated the dark forest,


But then, when it looked as if all hope was lost,

She had come to a clearing,

A place where the trees came to an end, and the darkness evaporates


In front of her, in the middle of the clearing,

Was a house, surrounded by a white picket fence,

And she smelt something sweet coming from behind that picket fence,


Her stomach gasped at the smell,

And she was drawn to it,

She flew over the fence, and into the garden, in a daze,


Then, she spotted a bench,

And on it, slices of beautiful, orange fruit,

She could almost taste it’s sweet flesh, and she had to have some,


She spotted a chunky slice near the edge of the bench,

There were others there too,

But she couldn’t care less,


She dive down to the slice,

She placed her lips on it,

And, savoury every drop, she drank,


The juice filled her up,

And quinched that hunger,

After a while she stopped,

For the first time in a long time, she was full


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