we flap our fragile wings in face of adversities
from the time we come out of the comfort of womb
we are butterflies
our colourful and bright dreams in childhood
primariestake us, as we munch the rugs, and through the room
we are butterflies
we open our fledgling fans, to say how big is the world
and the teacher gives us the moon, the sun, the universities
we are butterflies
we work our way through the office, flying through cyber space
from one hour to the next, pollinating our pensions
we are butterflies
and then the collector pins us in the back with conformities
we flitter a bit, then end up, bent back double on cabbage
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