When its butterfly will return
And the earth knows when the rain
But knows not that if it'll be
Withered soon, if not into bits
By hands that swayed mighty will
As the flower knows
So do I, will stand by gilded stones
To watch return,
Who, if not you?
Half-fadeth, half-etiolated
Who, if not me?
[poll id="2"]
[poll id="1"]
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