Sta.sh
A cut, a tear, a fold,
slice of color and a cut or two,
and another paper butterfly is born.
IV drips in the hand
keeping everything in place
while the cuts and tears and folds
keeps going on.
One thousand, six hundred and sixty six.
That's the number
she was told to make.
One thousand, six hundred and sixty six.
Until she can get a wish.
A nice nurse had told her so,
and shown her how to make them
but she had only made thirty out of the
one thousand, six hundred and sixty six
paper butterflies.
It seemed like such an impossible number
that one thousand six hundred and sixty six
but our patient needed that wish
just like everyone else,
in that hospital that our patient was at.
Her wish though
was not what someone expects
from our patient who will not last much longer.
Her wish,
is for her family to be happy when she's gone
and that they won't miss her to much
and that they will find someone else
after she has gone.
Her wish
isn't to stay
and to get better
because she knows
that it won't happen.
So instead
she wishes
for everything
to be happy
when she is finally gone.
And for that
our patient needs
one thousand
six hundred
and sixty six
paper butterflies.
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