Mariposa

Butterflies are white and blue In this field we wander through.

Suffer me to take your hand.

Death comes in a day or two.

All the things we ever knew Will be ashes in that hour:

Mark the transient butterfly,

How he hangs upon the flower.

Suffer me to take your hand.

Suffer me to cherish you Till the dawn is in the sky.

Whether I be false or true,

Death comes in a day or two.