The Butterfly

Beneath the weeping willow tree, gnarled and forlorn lay a dying butterfly;

Its tattered wings still so beautiful and delicate, glistened in the fading sun;

He was sleeping, and dreamt of softly floating through strawberries fields and sunflower gardens;

having settled upon a daisy, the butterfly woke to his thoughts with a heavy heart;

The air was dry and electric and the purple sky was getting darker with the dwindling hues of orange, blue and yellow;

The faint sound of rolling thunder echoed in the distance;

He was not sad, for he had lived his best life, but he was afraid;

 

He knew not what lay ahead;

His head was cushioned upon the pollen of the daisy as the flowers comforted him with soft whispers.