A balmy day at the dog end of August,
and a summer's breeze brought about unease.
The wind, robust, shook the trees with a gust,
and hummed, making it's way down the street.
Down the street was a lone office building,
and on the fifth floor was Sam Harper and Son.
An ad company, its office was schilling,
and killing, a sensitive, young woman.
A yellow butterfly flew through the window
and landed onto Mary Posada's desk.
She received this rare and random rendezvous.
She was a welcome visitor and guest.
She held her breath as she watched her flutter
her wings, like the flirting eyes of a lover.
Her wings were so pretty and soft like butter
as they spread like a smile, over and over.
She wanted to protect her paper wings
and to defend her aerial friend.
She knew in her heart that such fragile things
that are innocent, always, meet a quick end.
A clerk ended it's life with a single hit.
He swung his plastic flyswatter. Smack.
A yellow smudge, was all that remained of it.
"Got it." He laughed.
To him it was a small life, a small act.
And so, Mary quit and never came back.