The butterfly most wants the open flower

Which brightens life with pretty petals sweet.

He flies in wonderland  from hour to hour,

He settles short to taste the nectar treat.

His friends call him The Fixer, helps them grow.

The blooms in need of air from beating wings

Which fan them, light them, teach them how to glow.

They flourish in the happy songs he sings.

His heart is too full up for loving Ginge.

His wings are dusty,  shaky, losing lift.

Dust –  which keeps him flying – wearing thin.

The hurt, the pain he never meant as gift.

So while he tends his petals’ wild cries

Still he loses loves worth more than life.