It sits as a dead rose, laying against ashes.
The wings are broken glass.
The memories in the little head are just dust in the wind.
The scars that were hidden now show more as times go by.
In the shadow of its death, it now knows what lies.
What awaits in the darkness for this little butterfly?
The skies were its’ limits. Now? Who knows?
As it’s said, “In the valley of the shadow of death I fear no evil.”
So, is there evil for this butterfly to fear?
Maybe yes. Maybe no. Do we really want to know?
We shall know, whenever we go, following into the other side.
Warn me once, warn me twice, three times is the charm.
Is this what happened for the butterfly?
It lost its’ name, it lost the game, the game of life.
The things it thought, or were forgot, now all don’t matter.
We skipped hello and now say goodbye dear butterfly.
Where you are and where you shall go, I do not know.
But now I say, as I pray, “One day I shall, too, go.”