AMERICAN BOYCHOIR: [scene shows children's artwork during performance]

The last, the very last,

So richly, brightly, dazzlingly yellow.

Perhaps if the sun's tears would sing

against a white stone...

Such, such a yellow

Is carried lightly 'way up high.

It went away I'm sure because it wished to

kiss the world goodbye.

For seven weeks weeks I've lived in here,

Penned up inside this ghetto

But I have found my people here.

The dandelions call to me

And the white chestnut candles in the court.

Only I never saw another butterfly--