© tammi hartley
My wings are the eagle’s —
My song is the bird’s.
But I cannot fly,
And my words aren’t heard.
My name belongs to the Goddess —
My beauty stolen from the rose.
But I am not worshipped —
This garden, I am about to outgrow.
My sweetness is the honey’s —
My grace belongs to the butterfly.
But I have no taste for sweets,
And the butterfly flies too high.