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Momentary butterflies

That flit up through the air

They die as they reach the skies

I wonder if they care?


Born of heat that feeds on death

Their mother consumes all

They fade as they touch the earth

She flickers as they fall. 


When their mother fades from view

We see them in her wake 

Fragile dust, it seems to you

They’re there; make no mistake. 


See my last poem, January Came Today.