My Butterfly

My Butterfly

Sometimes you cry 
Telling me you are not beautiful
enough for me and I may leave you
for another.
My fingertip softly
touches your sweet lips
to hush  them.
I whisper reassurance to you.
Perhaps you cannot see yourself.
Like a butterfly 
Who lives its short life.
Never seeing its pretty colors
Or the grace of its wings in flight.
I think perhaps
You are like that