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.