I am so sorry that we could lose this iconic butterfly, it would be unimaginably lonely to live in a world without them.  I read a poem when I first woke up this morning which says more than I can today.  

The Last Good Days by Lynn Ungar

What will you do with the last good days?

Before the seas rise and the skies close in,

before the terrible bill

for all our thoughtless wanting

finally comes due?

What will you do

with the last fresh morning,

filled with the watermelon scent

of cut grass and the insistent

bird calling sweet sweet

across the shining day?

Crops are dying, economies failing,

men crazy with the lust for power and fame

are shooting up movie theaters and

engineering the profits of banks.

It is entirely possible

it only gets worse from here.

How can you leave your heart

open to such a vast, pervasive sadness? 

How can you close your eyes

to the riot of joy and beauty

that remains?

The solutions, if there are any

to be had, are complex, detailed,

demanding. The answers

are immediate and small.

Wake up. Give thanks. Sing.