Within a tiny clearing,
Albeit quite unseen.
Surrounding trees wave their leaves,
Where a gentle breeze has been.
–
An untouched patch of swaying grass,
Dotted with rocks and stones.
Broken twigs and branches lay,
Amid the tiny bones.
A lone butterfly enters there,
With beating wings not heard.
It dances low above the ground,
Slow fluttering preferred.
–
In this moment it owns it all,
No threat or challenge to face.
It is master of this little world,
It surveys the spot with grace.
–
It moves on, not looking back
At the treasure left behind.
No lessons here are heeded,
Though they are sorely needed,
About the grasping of humankind.