Perhaps the world should had been filled with poets and butterflies, then we wouldn't have heard of hate and wars but of mornings dew on the wings of butterflies.

If women were butterflies…
no garden could contain so much beauty,
no flowers could contain enough nectar
to quench of the growing chrysalis
they thirst for life,
no lover could ever whisper as softly
as the whispering wings in fly.
If women were butterflies…
our summers would have been
more enchanted, more bright,
because of their air ballet by breeze’s
symphony in the sky,
because the delicate movement
when quasi touching our face,
by an almost imperceptible caress
when they landed on our hand.
If women were butterflies…
we wouldn’t have needed to look up,
for a mother, a sister or a wife,
imagine on awakening mornings
through open welcoming windows
come iridescent colorful clouds
that like pieces of a rainbow
lands over our pulsating heart,
with the weight of an idea
and the softly whispers
from a velvet flame of her fire.
If women were butterflies…
we would have been better off,
surrounding with a cocoon our life,
with the maternal feelings they have,
where no rejection you will get
as long fidelity is in your heart,
then, it will be your life a garden
with tears of joy as rain in summer
or with winter’s purest whites.
Our world would have been better off
if women were butterflies…