Summer of 1976

The night that I met you I had mixed feelings about you.

I needed something from you.  

So, I was drawn to you.

I began to see what a troubled soul you were.

After the second time I saw you, I wanted to give you

something, so you would remember me.  

It was a butterfly, which turned out to be symbolic.

Little did I know then, how eager I was to transform you into

the beautiful soul I believed you could be.  After all, I love butterflies.

You gave me something that night also.  It was a metal cross, also symbolic. 

As the years rolled by I found myself clinging to the cross.

You did not seem interested in the cross.  I loved the cross and still do.  

The irony of it all, was that you, in all your creativity and wonder, eluded

the butterfly.