Death of the Butterfly | JD DeHart
Sure, at one time the wings were gossamer
and we had the promise of a beach vacation
and sure, the cocoon was lovely, if not a little
cramped and there was nectar.
Not in great quantities, mind you, but there
was nectar, but now –
the wings have been trampled, life has
happened once too often, the trees
no longer provide much shade, and we must
move on, let the balloon soar, and allow
passage, art, and time.
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