Of Butterflies and the Moon

Of Butterflies and the Moon by Jack A.S. Dunce I caught the butterfly's colors, but your eyes were red with roses. I opened up my old umbrella, but you rode off into the rain. I picked by hand the reddest apples, but you craved for luscious chocolates. I baked for hours on end a souffle, but you wanted only fine-dining. My everything is never your stars, so I sit under the light of the moon. ©️pgmr 11/27/2024