Butterfly

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, I can only now 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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