Butterflies

Once upon a time a fairytale came true...

and I met you....

The butterflies dance and waltzed

and I was entranced...

wondrous at the somersaults they made deep within.

But, as you came, you went as quickly

and the butterflies lay still, and wept.

Their tears stinging as the winters rain,

and in time with no dancing to do, they slept,

a fitful sleep as hope was killed by pain.

Time passed and sleeping butterflies awoke

recognising anticipation and the joy of hope,

but it was in truth an illusion,

no love returned, no cause for dance,

for all this pretender brought was confusion.

So, how long can butterflies survive?

Feeding alone on hope and the promise of love?

But, as these dwindle and diminish

do they too perish?

Or are butterflies encapsulated in a vial for eternity,

dancing so quietly, not even I can notice?

Yet I crave their speed, their grace, their joy

as they flit around and make me gasp.

Can another love ignite their dance?

Will there be in time a breaking free

of butterflies celebrating joy in me?