The dancing butterfly moves through the field, his bright and regal yellow wings flapping in the gentle breeze. Upon some flower he comes. His weight bends the stalk. There he drinks. Then, a flutter and he’s in the air again. The dancing butterfly moves through the field of crimson blooms, the wild field, where men have died and watered the earth with blood. The butterfly will flutter by and visit each blossoming flower, each blossoming, red flower. The yellow spirit moves and drinks the nectar of the plant that soaked up the blood of men. The dancing butterfly passes on.
Flutter By
Tale Told 