Memory's Fairytale
I never saw another butterfly
The last, the very last,
So richly, brightly, dazzling yellow.
Perhaps if the sun’s tears sing
Against a white stone…
Such, such a yellow
Is carried lightly ‘way up high
It went away I’m sure because it
Wished to kiss the world goodbye.
For seven weeks I’ve lived in here,
Penned up inside this ghetto,
But I have found my people here.
The dandelions call to me
And the white chestnut candles in the court
Only I never saw another butterfly.
That butterfly was the last one.
Butterflies don’t live here in the ghetto.