So, where will we be when all the butterflies have gone?
When we have harvested, and sprayed and obliterated
Every meadow and unplowed field?
What if there is no fluttering in summer, no metamorphoses happening?
What if there is no renewal and transformation? Will all hope then die?
Will we, as a human race, forget serendipity and joy and the ephemeral pleasure
Of a fragile thing with wings?
~Kathie Adams Brown (September 19, 2014)
This poem is dedicated to my friend, Roy and his blogpost: A Butterfly Day