The Last Butterfly

Deep in a dark wood

cloaked from prying eyes

seven Druids with bowed heads

circled the last butterfly,

The seven prayers spoken

were older than old

in a language long silent

heard here and no more,

each of the seven

who stood vigil there

saw one last tiny wing-flutter

the enchantment was gone,

of the seven Druids

no more may be spoke

when the butterfly passed

each one became smoke