The winds blow across the Atlantic, the cocoons in my stomach sprout butterflies, long nested inside they laid dormant.

I wonder who left them there. How blessed is your touch that I didn't notice, or I refused to.

Your wings flap far across the Atlantic but many things you left for me to remember you by while you are gone.

How subtle but powerful are the flap of a butterfly's wings.

MY butterfly's wings.

Travel far and wide, a nest you always have in my heart.

Oh how the butterflies you've grown in me, alongside them passion and blessings have sprouted.

No two butterfly's look the same and how blessed I am to have the greatest one.

Across the Atlantic you are, only a flap of your wings is how far you really are when I close my eyes and listen to my heart.

A note in my words that carry on the wind that goes through your wings I know you'll soar on them.

My butterfly's touch is never too much.

I can't help but think that the wind that hits my face once started off the flap of these gracious wings and it brings a smile to me.

Afraid of heights...

...my butterfly, she keeps me calm.

As I rise she rests & as I rest she flies,

Protecting each other when the other was most fragile.

Blessed be the man who's heart is held in someone else's hands and they choose to protect it instead of put it to the side.

Kept warm my heart is, in her grasp.

Thankful and blessed to see the butterfly grow her wings.