The butterfly

Strolling down the street she stared at the ground.
Watching pavestones pass on by.
Her eyes fixed to the floor.
Her mind in another world.

Tears rolling down her cheeks.
A soft tremor of her lips.
The cold feeling of winter's
rain pouring off her head.

A hole in one boot.
The other full of water.
Long skirt soaked,
her bare shoulders cold.

Shadows spoke to her.
The ladies laugh at her.
A butterfly her mother had called her.
Before the darkness took her.

The puddles her only friend.
A comfort to her tired feet.
A dark cloud looms overhead.
With a pair of charcoal shoes.

No more walking, the girl is tired.
He looks down at the butterfly,
he sweeps her away.
'All butterflies must fly,' said he.