Elusive beauty, flying off
the next bush, tree, tall flower.
Hiding from our noise,
the violence of us rock throwing.
Yet still you have survived,
to be here, in the forest.
Where you can sit in silence
and watch you flit, move, gone.
Your colors are brilliant
as you bend to hunt, stabbing.
Why can't we see what it has
cost us to hurt you, wonder?
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