Love & Homicide in the Wings
A mere moth should never marry A too-pretty Fritillary:
Ay, anterior, posterior, She’ll always act superior,
And opt, yea, to co-opt her an Obnoxious Lepidopteran
To ransom her; by chance some’re Both fancier and handsomer.
Tears will roll like many pennies When he uses his antennae
So he really realizes Not all butterflies are prizes;
Though he scarcely found it scary Marrying a Fritillary,
Someday soon he surely will, her Arrogance the caterpillar
Of his innocent devotion Kill; its wings will know no motion.
Down the alleys ghastly, ill-lit, Flits, forlorn, the moth; to kill it
Is a mercy of the fires On his thwarted old desires—
Clasp a gaslamp, doomed Cecropia! Love you once believed Utopia
Ne’er loved you, never trusted That you weren’t just maladjusted.
Ah! Madame, your Butterfly, alack, will only stab you in the back;
The price of your hubristic pride Could well become Cecropicide.
But the thrill of the chase can’t be denied!
If it weren’t so, where would we get our inspiration for such tales?! 🙂