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Poem

I must have left the window up
For a creature came inside.
She was bright and beautiful, with ornate wings;
You would never believe your eyes.

"What are you doing here, little thing?
The meadow is your home.
You are much too stunning, lovely, wonderful,
To be in the dreary dome.

But you might just be the perfect thing
To give this house some light."
So I fetched a jar of transparent glass, 
And lured her in without a fight.

She flapped and fluttered in her crystal lodge,
Inducing the cat to the table.
I then moved her up to a safer place
Where she was seen but not obtainable.

This should keep the critter safe;
Secure and snug in her own bubble.
No dangers shall she ever face:
No killers, no storms, no trouble.

A week had passed with my radiant guest
Though I hadn't much observed it.
I was far too busy tending other things
To notice every flit.

Then one day while knitting it was grimly silent,
And staleness filled my mug.
I sat 'til I finished my husband's sweater
Then got up to check the bug.

How long was she like this? I gasped,
As I cringed with utter disgust.
Nothing was left of her but folded wings,
For her body had turned to dust.

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