ianjelly

A butterfly ecloses just in spring.

She flutters, gaily groping for delight

Inside the grove, where she may find her fling.

A gadget, lovely as a rose, with bright

And sliver filigree allures her eye;

Infatuation lofts her heart with joy.

Poor girl! She'd better know that--love is blind;

The predator has crept to get his toy.

He chains and chumbles her in Beauty's guise,

Ensnaring her in his soft net; all's fair

In love and war; if only she could be wise!

Love casts the craze, which drives her to despair.

If I, in love, were made a sacrifice,

Would that, for you, the predator, suffice?

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