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;