Silent Cries in the Darkness
Bill Dohle
As they lay me on my shelf
For once I was free to roam
In distant forest lands.
I once tasted sweet nectar juice
Of beautiful flower beds.
I once felt the sweet embrace
Of a summer breeze
I once knew, knowledge true
Of the forest lands.
But now . . .
Now I sit atop a mantle
In a foreign land
far from my home
Here I sit, encased in glass
Forever imprisoned My freedom and my life you took
and for what reward?
Green leaves scattered on the horizon.
Note: This poem was written in memory of the
thousands of exotic butterflies killed for foreign
profit by the natives of many developing countries,
including India.
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