It was a butterfly

It was a butterfly,

when they found it.

Small and delicate,

wings dipped in gold and orange,

like a little spark of fire, it shone.

Innocent and joyous,

it kept fluttering around,

with dreams of finding nectar,

in the garden full of sunflowers.

 

It was a butterfly,

when they found it.

holding it,

as it put up a fight to break free,

they threw it in an air tight jar.

Inside the jar, all alone,

the desperate little butterfly,

struggled till it ran out of air.

That was when, they brought it out,

and laughing aloud, clipped its wings.

No more the little spark of fire,

slowly it died with eyes still full of the dreams,

innocent and unrealized.

It was a butterfly,

till the time, they killed it.

 

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4 thoughts on “It was a butterfly

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