The Fly and The Butterfly

This poem depicts the cruel irony that both insects suffered the same death, even though humans feel oppositely inclined towards them.
Based on a real experience of mine. :(

It sat on her wall,
Quiet as one subjected to insignificance.
Pestilent, it mocked her,
she who would never hurt a fly.

She opened her windows, and doors,
and left for two long days.
and she waited.
and it waited.
And when she returned, it was there.
mocking her.  

We found a butterfly,
trapped in the bonnet of the car.
It was a broken petal,
a pathetic flower,
a fallen leaf.
It's tiny legs struggled, and it's wings, 
flopping aimlessly into the air,
displayed it's helpless frailty.
No-one could kill it.
Someone blew it out the way of the wheel,
so we could drive away,
Leaving it alone to suffer a long, agonizing death.  

but Who could harm such a beautiful creature?  

but she could kill the fly.
She wouldn't make it fly away.
nor would she end it quickly. 
Poison, she imposed, and it flew about,
bumping into her, flailing, struggling, and she ran,
Leaving it alone to suffer a long, agonizing death.

The End

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