The truth becomes loss, but lilies still grow,
as lilacs and willows their beauty do show.
And you in the wings, awaiting your turn,
whose heart with the passions of spring
does burn; as the clover will bloom like
the clouds in the sky, who gather their thunder
whilst lovers do sigh.
What truth tremors upwards to lips who must
wait, as moths beat their wings at
an unjust fate? The butterfly draws all the
fickle eyes in, fair maidens with yellows and
reds they do win. But you in the wings, whose
soul is of gold, what gives you the right to
think thoughts so bold?
Yet maidens do come in all forms and
guises,to flatter and win the most hearts
as their prizes. And just as the moth hides
in low expectations, despairing of love in
its manifestations; some maidens are shy of
declaring their passion, and hide their real
truth in most garish of fashion.
So speak of the truth, you moth in the wings,
as wisely and boldly as larks do in spring.
With a soul full of gold, there’s a love to
unfold; as lily pads startle a waiting world.
Not all that glitters is all that it seems;
but truth lights the way to your wildest
of dreams …