Anne-Ri999

On wings of gossamer, light and free,
a butterfly dances, wild and carefree.
Yet on its fragile, silken span,
a drop of blood, a crimson plan.

A delicate bead, so stark, so bright,
against the wings, a haunting sight.

In the garden’s hush,
where flowers bloom,
It flutters softly, dispelling gloom.