Butterflies in a quiet dawn appear,
threads of souls that circle near.
Through cycles of death and cry,
they wake anew beneath blue sky.
Wings remember what once they knew,
reborn, connected, forever true.

They fall, they rise, they breathe again,
from ash to air, from loss to flame.
A whisper born of lives gone by,
now riding light beneath the sky.
In every wing, a world made new,
rebirth in motion, pure and true.