The Butterfly

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Toward the little circle
The patch of bare grass
Where I sat to rest
On my long, long journey
Through the field.

The butterfly flutters
Softly, silently, to my hand
As though afraid I will hurt it.
But I am too in awe
Of the beautiful creature.

It rests on my hand
Just as I rest in the grass
And I can’t help but wonder,
Where is it headed?
Will it make it?

Then a bird above me
Scares it into flight.
I jump up, startled,
To find the butterfly,
But he is gone.





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AislinnBluejay This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Dec. 2, 2012 at 1:49 pm
I want to be a butterfly now. p.s. check out my dialogue "Morning" in the scripts+plays section and please comment. In mood I find it similar to this piece, so if you like this, you'lll like "Morning" too.
 
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