Out across the meadow I see that
there are no butterflies at all.
Once a thing of beauty she now hides
in dead grass that's tall.

Her wings don't spread like they once
did during days of early spring.
She's blown from place to place because
she has no strength to cling.

Colors of light blue, yellow and spots
of gold and green have all faded away.
Colors that use to brighten my dreams
seem to tarnish slowly day by day.

Flowers I've placed before her she
appears to have no interest at all.
She's not willing to be beautiful again
she just long for days of fall.