Butterflies Poem by Christine Ann Persaud

Butterflies



What are lies?
Empty words,
waste with flies
a brain with worms...
Why we cry?
It makes things worst.
Tears are shy,
a smile is first...
Things are gone?
Fingertips are lost,
the truth is unknown,
all has the same cost...

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success