The butterfly lay on the ground
Fluttering and screaming
Someone had hit it
With their big machines
Knocking it to the ground
With her babies nearby
Someone with no heart
Someone who took no pride in life
She couldn’t tell me her pleas
I couldn’t understand her agony
She was in pain I could see
Distressed little one
Delicate we had to be
Got her wings straight
She will fly again
Hope she repairs fully
She looks worn but still pretty
How could anyone just leave it
Still alive or not
From here or not
Rich or not
Speaking the same tongue or not
Is the conscience dead
Or are some just not born with one?