When butterflies decide
to fly from plant to plant
'tis then they only kisses supplant
and
a new cocoon emerges
also as stamens and pollen bask
in the sun
a sunflower
has just been seeded
O lucky one
we all human are
sons of a gun
fired into an oven
Comments
loved
I thought the title is a bit too long. If it was me, i'll just entitled it "Butterflies" but this is your poem, sir. so it's your choice.
Alid
alidz
as butterflies
it was piled
in neopoets
shelves filed
only for five years
hence see.now u read it
thanks friend
no need to sir
all here r equal