Death of a Butterfly

To watch the golden swallowtail die

In the mid-afternoon heat:

An ardent sadness,

Calm, collected and resolute.

A slow fade of color,

A trickle of languid sorrow,

Dismal, drooping antennae

Speaks the fervor of looming death.

Such delicate beauty,

Cloaked in profound mystery,

Fluttering wings one last time,

Encompassing all that is sublime.

Melting yellow veins on asphalt,

Succumbing to a restless world,

Where no one stay forever.




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