Death Of A Butterfly
On copper and black wings, a fairy doth fly. Fairies breathe and pixie dust settles, as they flutter by. You don't always see them, for they know the end comes. Instead they light on the flowers and watch as a little fairie strums. They fly together or alone above our heads. Never realizing their lives hold on to a thread. Flying through fields of beautiful flowers. Hiding in trees during early morning showers. Rising into the sky, colors reflecting off the sun. A mockingbird has spotted him, his day would soon be done. Carried away in the beak of doom, a fairie starts to cry. Those children will not appreciate him, his wings apart they'll pry. When you spy a colorful wing, fluttering down from the sky. Just remember a fairie shed a tear for the death of that butterfly. Written March 30th, 2002 © on Mar 30 2002 02:56 PM PST 0 • 10
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"On copper and black wings,..."