A crackle of a shell
being torn
cast aside
The flutter of a wing
new and fresh
limp and weak
A squeal from the child
watching close
eyes are wide
The waiting and the rest
little wings
strength to seek
The wings are now stretched out
orange and black
beating slow
A flutter and a cry
take the air
sailing strong
It lands and then takes off
up again
high and low
It's lilting towards the clouds
out of sight
flies along
Fare thee well, young butterfly.
My family has had a hobby of raising monarch butterflies since I was a kid. We have had many, but I still remember when by first butterfly hatched. It's chrysalis had come detached from the top of the bug habitat, and I thought it might die. I worried the whole morning, but I made it. It takes them some time to pump up their wings and rest before they can fly. Getting out of the chrysalis quite a challenge. I always felt proud of them after they made it.
You know, even if you have to do something, like school maybe, or getting through a hard part of your life doesn't mean it wasn't an accomplishment. You are still very strong, even if you felt like you had other options. Just getting out of bed is a feat sometimes. Or holding in hurtful words. Or speaking up when you know you must. I was always proud of my butterflies. I am proud of you, too.