Watching a butterfly
Move over moorland
So pretty and colourful,
Wings catch the sun,
Such simple beauty attracting a mate
For creation of life
For the cycle to carry on,
To carry on.
Contrast the bomber that turns in the sky,
Ugly and lifeless and serving no purpose,
Save war
And the politics of war,
What are wings for?
They borrowed nature's skill
And taught it how to kill,
How to kill.
So crossing their bypass and crossing their purpose,
The butterfly shadowed by bomber above,
Alone and distracted and thus unaware
Of the butterfly collector,
A butterfly collector,
A butterfly collector,
A butterfly collector.
He-he, well, I'm outraged.