Butterflies
 

Proud words wash over me,
I’m in a trance.
Butterflies float by my face,
As they spiral and dance.
Live petals on the wind,
Words should be as free,
A glorious display,
Of coloured fantasy.

Dictators can’t stop you,
And neither can fools.
To cage you is folly,
You do not know rules.
You remain unfettered,
No chains and no bars,
Suppression is worthless,
And as futile as wars.

They burn many volumes,
And pages, they tear.
The book may be gone,
But the thoughts are still there.
The verses are with us,
And always will be,
Accept their existence,
Butterflies are free.