" This Butterfly Stings by Stewart Stafford

The gold of my eye dances on stage for me,
Her wings wafting behind her in the chorus,
Yet none glimpsed that girl's beauty as I did,
This butterfly flew solo in my mind's eye.

For two years hence, I concealed my interest,
Yet I gazed at her endlessly, so close yet apart,
Places of learning changed, but she did not,
I foolishly let fly Cupid's token to my inamorata.

Seeing my love in a looking glass reflected,
Shadow feelings illuminated St Valentine's Eve,
My butterfly became a sullen stinging bee,
Crushing my tender rose in pieces at my feet.

Nor would her wicked scorn end there,
She told her friends who joined in my shaming,
For years after, turning my last shreds of adoration,
Into contemptuous hatred of her existence.

Truly no one can take away our memories,
Where my former crush still dances on occasion,
O sweet butterfly of my youth, one last wish,
Never fly away from these fond recollections.

© Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved. "

― Stewart Stafford