I'm a butterfly
I'M Happy To Remain A Butterfly Midnight of my passing years . . . . Did someone knock on the mute shutters or was I scared in a dream? What house of love is this? Such frightening rocks litter its base, its windowpanes already chatter. Perhaps the dread lies inside me more than anywhere out there. My dread of his handsome looks, my awe of his mind, my fear of a dance of wild abandon before his pursuing eyes . . . . Mere covers. I don't wish to say: "There he is." Why should I lose what years have gained: my life of freedom, my free mind? I know if I ever fell into his hands he'd swiftly turn me into a housefly. Confined to the walls of his desires, I'd forget I had ever known the joys of light, breeze and perfume. Yes, I'm happy to remain a butterfly: though life's needs conspire against me at least my wings are still intact.