While resting by the blooming blossoms,
I happened to see a butterfly flutter by.
With fire- red wings added with a black tinge,
Above the placid plants it flew high.
The winged colours leapt from blossom to blossom
With each splendid leap better than the last.
An audience stopped to watch and listen
To the admiring silence the tiny angel’s wings cast.
As an added touch to an already perfect painting,
The butterfly danced among the dazzling flowers.
With its glory, the insect conquered a multitude --
Me, children, the violet sky and the flowers – its dear lovers.
Smiles were spread on infant faces
As the colours showcased their wizardry.
But who knew that grief would replace joy
And that the insect would meet its tragedy?
The tiny thing, when celebrating dance,
Fell directly into a spider’s food tray.
Not considering the helpless moans and cries,
The spider hurried towards its prey.
Shocking silence replaced the admiring silence.
Looks of horror replaced the looks of wonder.
But they knew it was helpless now,
For only God can stop Death – the hunter.
The crowd dispersed with heads bent
And the flowers were left desolate and bare.
Glory is surely short-lived and not immortal
And a fall is brought to many a great, with exceptions rare.