My girl, she’s like a butterfly —
She’s fragile, soft, and hard to catch
Her skin is pale like Marbled White,
And her directions seem so strange.
She’s dressed in black, enchanting lace
And you can hear her flutter close
And now she frisks before your gaze —
She can be near, but never yours.
With all her velvet and black dust
With all her grace; she will be free
She’s never meant to be broken for lust,
Not for the frame you want to keep.
She’s not the one for your collection —
She’s Mother Nature’s work of art
No, there can be no exception —
She flits abask, we fall apart.
Marbled White, Melanargia Galathea
© Copyright: Анастасия Малер, 2022
Свидетельство о публикации №122072000501
Свидетельство о публикации №122072000501
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