Busker – Butterfly

And he could tell that agitation
was fine-printed in her eyes.
Like a tattoo under-the-feet,
Movement in her gesture.
She was like a busker in a train
giving you the la-da-di-dap–
for a second-
a stop or two,
that sweet melody,
a tender tone
a composition of moll and cautious
optimism.
She was temporary,
Like her feelings.
He kept saying it, so that she could let
all the pain go.
He was always trying to take her to
the top of the mountain.
She was the melody beyond the tone-
the beat keeping him in the road–
but she was temporary,
the beauty of a moment
a night you’d never forget-
without taking any pictures
you would always keep her in mind.
And he could tell that agitation
was fine-printed in her emerald
coloured eyes.
She didn’t want to let him go,
she wanted to stay for-ever.

by Giulia Mori, 17, Albert-Einstein Gymnasium, Berlin, Germany