I see you with your clipped wings,
fallen to my feet.
You the wingless painful little thing,
struggling to breathe.
Some monster came along, stole
your beauty and flight. Such tragedy
a life short already, shortened even more.
I hydrate your soul with my tears,
I am sorry for not being able to save you.
Poor butterfly. Now I have the butterfly blues.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem