A butterfly in a jar

I put a butterfly

in a jar and watched

it fly around in its

glass prison,

where it could look

out but never get its

freedom again

beyond the dome.


I watched a butterfly,

rainbow coloured gold,

beat against the rigid walls,

trying to fly to

where it had come,

but only going

around and around

In this tiny windowed room.


And when it flew around,

and around,

and around,

till it could fly no more,

it sat at the bottom

of the jar and did not move.


There it sat in its

confined gloom,

till I opened the jar

and let it out, and it

launched itself with glee

into the fresh made air,

flying with all its might

into the trees,

into the boundless sky

and even beyond.


But then at last it tired

and floated down and down

through the air,

and to the jar it

returned again,

turned again to

its confined room.