For a Butterfly

They hurt us.
We couldn't stop them.
No one heard a thing, you
Or me--
And the rain was running, running
All the little tears, kept
Running in the dark.

Now
You've disappeared
Or I have, depending
On who controls the narrative.
But secrets linger in the mountains
And the tired sun keeps going
Up, and down.

And the heart heaves;
It clenches that silent night.
Ancient moon light drips
On that innocent, baby face.
(Oh)

Little children
What do they speak of
When the
Keeper isn't around?

Little children
Jesus is listening
As the mountains hush
And bend.



--Abby Elizabeth Charland
  (Please pray for the children not yet found)

And whoso shall receive one such little child in my name recieveth me.
                              The Words of Jesus Christ,
                              --Mathew 18: 5