That tiny wing

– a butterfly’s lift

– flaps in

the breeze.

Now disconnected,

though, from

the fragile body.

It once flew across

vast oceans and

fluttered among

blossoms in

bright gardens.

A reminder we

perish, and

what’s left

behind is not

the one who

traversed the

world. This

plumage that lit

the dawn is

only a costume.

Independent content creator, ghostwriter, author https://tinyurl.com/y2cgqhgv mental health advocate, and poet. bridgetwebbber@outlook.com

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