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 colorful patterns.
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 colorful, 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 eternity.

-Roberta Adams