Fancy

Reality,
a butterfly
flying at the pace of the wanton wind,
destiny and prophecy mar each wing.

To fly, to float
and be everlasting each season,
every spring.

A painted dream I cannot touch,
a masked beauty,
crystal facade I long to reach.

To see and feel,
to believe, to teach,
quoth this ever flowing fancy pours from my lips
in hopes,
that it
may come again.