One day I sat alone when it settled on my arm. A lovely little butterfly, someone had done it harm. It had a damaged wing, which was very badly frayed, it made me feel quite special. I was happy when it stayed.
Although it had been damaged (to everybody’s eye) it was still a very valid and delightful butterfly. I seemed to make it happy, it appeared to feel secure, but a sudden movement by me – and it was there no more.
Eventually it came again, my fondness for it grew. But when I tried to touch it – up in the air it flew.
Whenever it would come back I tried to show I care, but each time it felt safer returning to the air
One time I thought I’d hurt it as I tried to hold it tight. It stayed in the air a long time before it did alight. Attempting to persuade it to stay a little longer I always seemed to scare it, but my need became much stronger.
Eventually it flew away high up in the sky and often I catch sight of it as it goes flying by. Butterfly’s are delicate, they need to feel they’re free. I’ll never try to hold one if one ever lands on me.
© Andy(ArT)Trigg 2001
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