sounding off the far mountain wall,
bouncing back quieter and softer.
more beautiful with each fainter repetition
and more sad too, the original brightness fading and slowly dying
quieter, quieter, quieter til we're not sure which one was last and which one sounded only in our heads.
and maybe the last one, the one we imagine we hear.
Maybe it's the only real one.
Jilted BUTTERFLY
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/an-echo-3/
