Anonymous, 1998
She smiles like a child
With flowers in her hair
With blood on her hands
Into the sun she stares
She feels it die
I’ve seen her cry
Like the scream of a butterfly

In response: "Metaphor for a metaphor"
SO you want to know what it’s like
What it’s like to Breathe, to Live, to Wither, to Die
You reach all your life towards something
You’ll never get to, and then it is your turn to go...