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A child holds a butterfly close
It opens its wings to fly
The butterfly flies threw a field
Where roses grow
The blood of the innocent drips from it's wings
Staining the roses red
Over the hill in the vallies below
A battle rages
The child watches and cries for her father
The soliders leave
And the girl climbs down the hill
THe butterfly follows and flowers grow
Each one redder then the one before
The war is over
And the girl grows up
But each year
On the anniversary of his death
She visits the valley where her father lays.
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