Always out of reach little butterfly.

I stretch and reach but never can quite catch.

You are who makes me exclaim, weep, and cry.

If you lay upon a branch, I will snatch.

So, I grasp your ice cold motionless frame.

Poof, as you ascend into paradise,

I can just perceive you, as if a game.

You are so very quiet such as mice.

I know. Don't ́t tell me. It's my fault.

Everyone pretends that you are okay.

They begin to seal you into a vault.

I can not watch you be put to lay. 

My emotions overflowing my brain, 

As I observe you settle with no pain.