365 Days of Creativity
day thirty eight
The corpses of ladybugs crunch beneath my feet.
Shattered wings and soiled blood,
and mysteries beneath.
The azure of a dragonfly,
crushed up into a paste.
I wear the hue of stolen lives,
they compliment my taste.
In my hair I tie the wings,
of butterflies, delicate things.
Woven braids of gossamer,
nothing so quaint, do you concur?
The apple of a fallen tree,
lands far from where it ought to be.
Even ants dare to be bold,
when mother nature takes a hold.
The secrets that this lady keeps,
why crickets cry and willows weep.
I borrow all the colours of,
miss nature's unrequited love.
The ladybugs I stomp and shatter,
crimson shells, on lips they flatter.
The dust upon a bumblebee,
I brew each day to make my tea.
Though I steal from crystal clouds,
I practice grace, leave with a bow.
For when the world comes crashing down,
it's mother earth who wears the crown.
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