Broken Butterfly

Working in the Garden Center has it's advantages. Namely, being surrounded by beautiful flowers and the creatures they bring. However, it also has its disadvantages. Many months ago, I was wandering our patio, watering the plants and smelling the flowers, when I saw a butterfly lying upon the ground, fluttering its' wings to no avail. I watched it for a few minutes, hoping it would fly away to freedom. When I saw that it was fighting a losing battle, I tried my hardest to rescue this poor creature. After this battle, I was inspired to write a poem. I had only gotten 2 lines, until today. I finally came up with the rest of it.

I lay here with wilted wings
upon the cobbled stone.
Overlooked by passersby,
eternally alone.
I am too small to notice,
overshadowed and ignored.
The heavens, they call out to me.
Upon its' winds I once soared.
I struggle to find the strength
to lift my head up to the sky,
but I have given up, it seems.
My time has come to die
for I am a broken butterfly.

This butterfly reminded me of my mother. Small and frail, yet beautiful. Struggling to hang onto life, to fight for it. In the end, the battle was lost. This poor butterfly was trying so hard to stand up and fly away, but it was so weak that the sheer effort to flap its' wings was too much to bear. I tried so hard to save it. I gently carried it to a nice flower in the shade, creating a sort of "barrier" around it to protect it from wind, rain, and other creatures. I wanted it to live. In fact, I felt it was my duty, as one of nature's children, to rescue another. I failed. The butterfly had given in to the sweet embrace of Death, just as my mother had done.