Brown and Blue,
And specks of white and red.
Flew through the window,
Gliding slow.
The butterfly landed
With a dying soul.

Sat still with fading beats,
Glad maybe it wasn't killed.
Lived its life in full,
Fluttered about in the summer sun.
Abundance it had experienced -
Transformation too, came out of a shell.

Composed and serene
He looked to me.
Complete -
In every be-ing.
To rest, it was laid
In my rose plant.
Beautiful alive,
Beautiful in death,