Yellow, red, bright blue
pollen didn’t cause her flu
running around, gardens found
it’s feet were not wounds bound
fragrance, air, so longed nacter
transferring pollens for all that matter

But meadows, gardens, all flowers
were all dreams, so farther
a glass wall separating her
she, bound in some ways
Her heart yearned for that butterfly
and she? enclosed within those four walls!



Colours, flowers, green meadows
All seemed alien, so remote
Visible through the small window
a life so variable
Here life was dim, streets gloomy
There sun seemed to shine so brightly
Here moments were so restricted
There things flowed so gloriously
There sun shone impartially
Here even dark imparted partiality.