The butterfly skies are back,
With clouds that remind me
Of long hot summers past,
When the weather was innocent
And the heat made us warm.
The butterfly skies are dappled blue,
Flicked from an artist’s brush,
Playfully sprayed on a canvas
Of off-white stretched full-width
Across an endless clear horizon.
The butterfly skies were ever there,
Taken for granted like morning,
Teeming with fertile sunshine
That kissed life into all the living,
And bid them worship the light.
But where are the butterflies now?
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