The Butterfly
He had her there, resting on the palm of his hand for a while.
She was all he ever wanted.
Sometimes her wings were closed.
Motionless.
At other times, she spread her wings open in the bright sunshine,
displaying her colourful patterns.
He truly loved her.
She knew that.
He told her she was special and beautiful, he saw the beauty.
He appreciated her true colours.
But he couldn't keep her.
He knew that.
She was born to fly.
She had been beautiful in his hand, but in flight she soared.
In the garden amongst the colourful, sweet-fragranced flowers.
Her habitat.
Free.
In letting her go, he made her happy.
But she was always to remember his warmth and his love.
Always and forever.
For all of eternity.
(c) Roberta Adams All Rights Reserved
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