Butterflies

So richly, brightly, dazzlingly yellow. Perhaps if the sun’s tears would sing against a white stone.... ||
 * The Butterfly ||
 * || The last, the very last,

Is carried lightly ’way up high. It went away I’m sure because it wished to kiss the world good-bye. || For seven weeks I’ve lived in here, Penned up inside this ghetto. But I have found what I love here. The dandelions call to me And the white chestnut branches in the court. Only I never saw another butterfly. ||
 * || Such, such a yellow

Butterflies don’t live in here, in the ghetto. ||
 * ||  || That butterfly was the last one.


 * || **//Pavel Friedman, June 4, 1942//** ||

Deported to the Terezin Concentration Camp on April 26, 1942. Died in Aushchwitz on Sept. 29, 1944. ||
 * || Born in Prague on Jan. 7, 1921.

In an effort to remember them, Holocaust Museum Houston is collecting 1.5 million handmade butterflies.

http://www.hmh.org/ed_butterfly1.shtml