Pecking at shiny frogs to pass dead days,
the raven seizes each season in claw-
twists them around a cocoon whose shimmer
caught her eye,
that cup of blemish spilled
within thread,
waiting for princess-wings
to rise from the silk of the dying:
to feast,
to swallow a butterflys kisses
and in return
to be consumed heart-first.






Thank you - and yes, you have deciphered the riddle I think 

but the poem is fantastic. i was given a little brooch pin once, an silver frog with emerald eyes, magical frog, magical poetry..this one has a really savage feel underneath the pretty butterfly kisses. 
6 old applause
