butterfly without wings

I set my eye on the setting sun
and think about the choices I’ve made so far in life.
Too old for regret.

A spot darkens on my horizon
does it ruin my view, my perspective?
or perhaps it was meant to be…
as the clouds roll on, crushing dark thoughts.

A butterfly without wings,
does it die, or find a new way to carry on?

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Wench, bring my ale, what say you?