#1705-Flutterfly

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.