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Like my dear butterfly’s wings, my
mind flutters without flight.
In ginger staccatos it has danced
forward and backwards in a song
that won’t resume its tune.
feeble are my heartstrings,
sending empathy in sealed
envelopes that people forget to
attempting to remain in pink
blushing roses and creamed lace
As have I, love
for we possess fragile fingers
unwilling for the world’s firm reach

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