A butterfly danced through skies so wide,
And gently landed by the boy’s side.
She sat on his palm, soft and free,
A quiet moment, pure as could be.
But day by day, he held her tight,
Kept her close, hid her from flight.
Not seeing how her wings grew sore,
She fluttered less than days before.
Until one day, with strength anew,
She broke away and off she flew.
The boy stood still, with tearful eye,
And whispered low, “You’re meant to fly.”
Too late he learned, love isn’t chains—
It’s open skies and gentle rains.