Out in the sunshine fluttering through the garden-
two little boys – pins and nets and sticks.
Chasing after her.
Iridescent wings now too tired to fly
and a beguiling rose
in front of her.
She rested for awhile when
two muddy fingers picked her up
by the wings.
She writhed and squirmed in their grasp.
They laid her down on the ground –
Spread-eagled while the boys
Laughed and plucked her legs.
Pinned her down with needles
Pulledd her wings and let it fly in the wind.
When they were done they left,
For another great adventure.
Poor little butterfly lay dying on the ground.
Around her insects came-
Her fault for flashy wings.
Her fault for going into the garden.
Her fault for being a butterfly.