a butterfly is such a delicate thing
with gossamer wings frailer still
but don’t you dare hurt a butterfly
for if you do it surely will
scream in its own hopeless way
flap and flap and flap its tiny wings
and hurricanes will suddenly  be born
enraged by pain in the butterfly’s heart
retribution descending from a torn sky
and someone somewhere will learn to cry
And if you  stamp on the souls of the poor
they will hide their wretched pain
no one will bother, neither you nor I
but the butterfly within their souls
will cringe and be pierced with grief
souls will flap and flap their wings
multiplying mega times the hurt within
the worlds themselves will collide
mountains will crumble or be raised
joy will leave life and heavens forever fade

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