Day 864, weeds. When butterflies don’t fly. Fading away, overwhelmed in lies. Wings eager, restricted by weeds. Cracked mud of the soil grades the time. When butterflies couldn’t fly. Share this:TwitterFacebookLike this:Like Loading... Related Leave a Reply Cancel reply Enter your comment here... Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Email (Address never made public) Name Website You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out / Change ) You are commenting using your Google account. ( Log Out / Change ) You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out / Change ) You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out / Change ) Cancel Connecting to %s Notify me of new comments via email.
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