There is a colourful butterfly in the grassy plains of my mind
Nevertheless, I am not sure whether to celebrate the day I was born or not
Was I born or was I evicted from my mother's womb
If I was evicted, then when was I supposed to have been born?
Or does it matter really, how I came into being but rather who I have become
Yes, the beauty of this butterfly is hugely in contrast to her stages of growth.
The world does not care what happens to you but what you happen to it
The plains are lush green; let the butterfly blend with the beauty of her days
The rabbit that is slow to the burrow is lunch for the eagle above
Every minute in the plains is vital for every creature to enjoy and survive
Wednesday, September 25, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: days