"The Butterfly"

A tiny butterfly, with faded, tattered wings

Is tossed about in the winds of a storm.

And she fights for survival against the natural forces

That exist only to torment her.

and she beats her wings

And pushes with all her might,

But, lo, she is defeated,

And she falls to the ground, unable to try again. The winds are too much

for her.

She thought her colors would sustain her,

But the wind didn't see color or beauty.

She thought she was strong enough because she could fly.

But the wind was stronger, and the world too large.

She thought her friends would help her on,

But they all disappeared, lost in their own terrifying winds.

So there she lay defeated, tired, and worn.

Thinking she is colorless, worthless and ordinary.

Until, abruptly she is lifted up, up, up into the air

By a hand, the small, tender hand of a child.

This beautiful child lifts its hand into the air

And releases her.

She spreads her torn wings,

And begins to fly.

She notices that the winds don't feel as strong now,

And the sky doesn't feel as lonely now,

And her colors seem a little brighter.

All because of the curiosity and innocence of a child.