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Butterfly of heartbeat flutter, of summery-song and sweet-memories' serenade, enjoy these days of heady wonder and pay no mind to winters bite.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, September 12, 2023.
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Then came a bouquet of butterflies, wings of bright tempest scales, that rained unseen to blossoms sprung.

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Black veins upon butterfly wings are the perfect hue to accompany such sunny golds.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, December 25, 2020.
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A marriage of browns upon velvet wings gives the butterfly safe harbour in my fondest memories.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, December 25, 2020.
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In aromatic spring air comes the dance of the white butterfly.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, December 25, 2020.
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The butterfly sat upon her finger with wings of black and gold, the colours blending and swirling as playful waves upon night sands.

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If ever there was magic powder, it was that iridescent glow of the butterfly wings. It casts a spell on these eyes so that my soul is brought into the moment with a fullness. I feel as if my thoughts were more tuned in somehow, as if I were a radio that's found a frequency that is both more calm and more intense all at once. That instant of seeing those petal-wings brings a serenity that holds me as if in some universal camera flash.

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The butterfly, flower of the sky, dances by in a whirl of colour. She is born to fly from her cocoon, to bring a beauty so delicate into the warming summer air. As sweet as the nectar she seeks, she raises her wings as an organic clock, each flutter a moment until her time of rest.

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The butterfly is a rose on a beach; she is the life amid so much sky. She swims into the air, letting it eddy beneath her wings, curling in the sweetest of swirls. I watch her pass, fast despite her erratic path, choosing her direction by a silent serenade of the blooms.

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My hope, it sat upon a butterfly of painted wing, drinking deeply of the aroma of flowers. And of its steed, she flew on in bonny fashion, rising and falling only to rise again; without insulation for the winter, nor experience of icy blasts. My hope and her were blessed companions, for one cannot sense the cold and the other requires recovery without it.