soon
by our own cruelty
and that of the wind's harshness
the last butterfly shall go
and then finally gone
and then we shall remember
each of the fluttering
beauty
in every leaf
in every vein of its leaves
in every whisper
and whimper
we shall be left with nothing
but the imagination
of wings.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nice piece, Loved the imagery, thank you for sharing, Jerlyn