Butterfly Essence

The old man lived a model life, and died
at home, with family. A simple man.
In his effects they found a silken fan
and tiny perfume flask. His old wife cried.
The flask's worn label spoke of Paris France;
and butterflies, 'for lady's handkerchief'.
Confusion raged amid the family's grief,
with speculation on a past romance.

Six decades earlier he had to part
from his true love - he'd hoped to marry her.
Distressed, he asked for 'part of what we were' -
she gave the fan, the flask, her broken heart.
He lived a life of honour, he was true
to vows he made from duty, not from love,
and still he'd kiss the flask in memory of
his love. Somehow the family never knew.

And so his simple life encompassed both
the life he had to lead, the man he had
to be – and all the lovely dreams the lad
he used to be once had. He kept his oath
to God and to his lawful wedded wife.
Now freed by death his loving soul may fly
to where his sweetheart waits - the butterfly
whose scent sustained him all his earthly life.