Jonathan Finch
<a href="https://pixabay.com/en/butterfly-macro-beauty-2720103/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Source</a>
There are strange dreams which flutter past my startled eyes
Like many weary butterflies whose ragged wings
Stir faintly all the autumn winds and make them sing
The music of her voice – her questions, words and
Innocent replies that pained me with unnumbered fears,
Until her music was the symbol of my tears.
