SlightlySane
June 17th, 2010, 09:59 PM
Butterflies, what sweet little things
So soft and fragile their beautiful wings
Changed from a worm, a wonder to the mind
Amazing to our eyes, as a one of a kind
Butterflies allude to our emotions, you see
We give them many of our, sweetest analogies
Romantic in a way we have never described
To our love scenes it seems, they’ve always been subscribed
Butterflies are never, just what they may seem
They fill up our minds, and even our dreams
They live in our bodies, as stories will show
Giving us the feelings, we all have come to know
Butterflies in the pit of ours stomachs
Stopping the beat of our diaphragm phonics
Giving a rhythm that tickles our heart
Their wings show a crush, we deny the whole part
Butterflies touch in the home of our souls
Touching infatuation, without leaving a hole
They turn us red and make us giggle
When they are spoken to we squirm and we wiggle
Butterflies know when we’ve found someone so
That we wish we could talk to, but how do they know?
To get closer to them, would be easy at first
Those butterflies give our speech a fine thirst
Butterflies follow with only the truth
Knowing their playing has been enough proof
To deny it is pointless, they already know
Butterflies make love, quite a neat show
So soft and fragile their beautiful wings
Changed from a worm, a wonder to the mind
Amazing to our eyes, as a one of a kind
Butterflies allude to our emotions, you see
We give them many of our, sweetest analogies
Romantic in a way we have never described
To our love scenes it seems, they’ve always been subscribed
Butterflies are never, just what they may seem
They fill up our minds, and even our dreams
They live in our bodies, as stories will show
Giving us the feelings, we all have come to know
Butterflies in the pit of ours stomachs
Stopping the beat of our diaphragm phonics
Giving a rhythm that tickles our heart
Their wings show a crush, we deny the whole part
Butterflies touch in the home of our souls
Touching infatuation, without leaving a hole
They turn us red and make us giggle
When they are spoken to we squirm and we wiggle
Butterflies know when we’ve found someone so
That we wish we could talk to, but how do they know?
To get closer to them, would be easy at first
Those butterflies give our speech a fine thirst
Butterflies follow with only the truth
Knowing their playing has been enough proof
To deny it is pointless, they already know
Butterflies make love, quite a neat show