As a silken butterfly

And a butterfly without wings

Always seems to die.

There is nothing quite so precious

As the love someone can give

And someone who can find no love

Never seems to live.

In every springtime comes a fall

In each birth there comes a death

In every dawning comes a dusk

In each first, a final breath.

There is nothing quite so perfect

As a crystal flake of snow

Yet if it never fell to melt

The rivers would not flow.

� Rainbowturtle