Imported Poems

This failing butterfly
Spirals towards Earth.
Her reddish hues speak to me of transformation,
A drift towards graves, and
Suddenly oxygenated venous blood
That will never return again to the heart.
This leaf will become mulch, and be reborn
First green, then yellow.
But her sisters, she whispers to me
Gliding into my ear,
In ancient groves, have already fallen and
Like the men of Antietam
Can rise no more.