Those butterflies at sunset lay dying in the grass.
Mistaken for fairies while they whirled and did their dance.
Children of men picked them up, shook off their perceived fairy dust.
Their vibrancy blanched, as they faded to grey.
The butterflies were lovers while dancing in the midday sun.
Miraculous phenomenal life span.
Died on the day that their life began.

We were those beautiful creatures.
Flitted in the midday sun.
Miracles filled with true magic.
Tossed away as children played.
Oblivious to what they'd done.
(C) Livvi