Lost
The butterfly, a symbol of rebirth.
The butterfly that I noticed fluttering around my back porch,
golden brown with black veins running through it, white dots along the edges of its wings.
The butterfly that couldn't find its way out,
The butterfly that I found two days later on the floor, lifeless.
The butterfly lays on my kitchen counter, still dead.
Copyright © Rosa Mendonca | Year Posted 2012
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