First they were red, and then became blue
speckled small flowers, fragrantly ridicule
then they flew around, passing off as butterflies
and the butterflies cried that they were full of lies
“they have the gall, such an impudence, we can’t stand this falsity”
while they sank with the flowers in golden luminosity
I saved them from the abyss, it would’ve been so tragic
it was blue, and red again and beautifully magic.