It seems that yellow butterfly
I watched in summery California
Has followed me back to Arizona
Filling my yard with its huge aura
The golden light of autumn
Arrayed in final purple flora
Aren't these the Easter colors
Having risen now must die
For nature is our mother-mirror
Reflecting then reversing fallen sky
Her likeness-given-life taken away
Her solitude resumed consumed
Bending softly toward winter's tomb
And leafless creatures such a I
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