I have a green jade butterfly
Whose wings are lace and stone.
Never, windblown,
Never, ephemeral, shall it waver by,
Its perishable down, its living wings
A part of winds and springs.
Fine-carved, unchanging, exquisite forever,
It is for praise, for gazing; to be worn
Proudly, and shown
Where other still and cold things shine by night.
It shall have eyes to marvel at it, words . . .but never
Honey or love or flight.
This is a green jade butterfly
With wings of lace and stone;
Never alive,
Never windblown.
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