#1705-Flutterfly
01/04/2022
Wound up in knots,
With no place to run.
The sun sets,
Shadows extend,
But all I hear,
Is the pitter-patter
Of falling rain.
Maybe I’m far away,
From a world they
Call today.
An open window,
A fluttering candle flame,
And memories of a moth,
Unexpectedly flying
From an open suitcase,
That special summer day.
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