Oh Mama look, a flutterby.
(her tiny hand held it out to me) .
She grasped it firmly in her fist,
afraid to set it free.
Lovingly I showed her
one of life's most painful tests.
Sometimes the ones we love the most
we hurt more than the rest.
The butterfly was still alive
although its wings were bent.
This tiny miracle of grace,
its rainbow all but spent.
The magic dust was there to see.
Tears welled up in her eyes.
I hugged her to me and explained
that real love never dies.
We spoke that day of letting go,
of holding love less tightly.
To hold it gently in our hearts
shows love much more when lightly.
That day when she was very small,
we more than mourned a butterfly.
We shared a magic, tender moment.
I'll always thank the flutterby.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem