Doth thou sit upon a branch?
Gaze peacefully at thy glory and wonder in collective soul.
Thy wings beat to gusted wind, silky spindles excreting.
Lease of spirit, gasp, I see thy eyes in blacken dark and wonder if such could be preserved in amber.
Faithful dances do you play, listing silently along the trees.
How should such a being live? Short, quick, grasp from wooden.
Small furry hands cradle thy delicate soma, and crunch!
Such beauty in the world lost! Nevermore shall heavens ring!
Yet, there be cocoons, strewn, hanging among the leaves with care.
Daintily do they sway in the breeze, and soon shall there hatch another.
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