Resting Butterfly Poem by Cris Ben
Resting Butterfly
These thoughts rested in my mind like a tired butterfly:
must someone be dead to be celebrated and venerated?
Must someone cease to exist to see his worth and be appreciated?
Must death come first for fame and glory to multiply?
Why should everything be lost before we start reckoning its cost
...and just like that they begin to fly at my unsettling sigh.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/2/2024 12:25:43 AM # 1.0.0.1119
