A butterfly flutters about my meadow,

Grazing my petals lightly,

Almost afraid to land.

All my flowers curled and closed,

As if the sun has set on them.

The butterfly was meant to unintentionally grow my plants,

But instead it jumped and flew through my meadow,

Only touching what it wanted and not what it is was supposed to.

My meadow was bleeding red,

As a quiet call bloomed upon it.

My flowers hide under the soil as to escape.

Oh what a beautiful butterfly.

My meadow has wilted, I can see it through my window.

It refuses to remember that butterfly and its touch,

And just as that butterfly loved my meadow without a sound,

my flowers screamed silently.

Love is wild.