Butterflies

Forest

In this forest of mine, there's a path.

It weaves through the foliage;

Sneaking between the trees;

Standing on the banks of the whispering stream.

In this forest of mine, there's a silhouette.

It's tall like the trees;

It walks carefully, winding through the flowers.

It stops on the path, turning to face me.

Its hand waves to me, fingers stretching out to me like branches.

"Bloom," it said. "Bloom where you are planted."

"How?" I asked.

"Run through the forest as the river does; flow through the vegetation and give life to all. That, my dear," it said, "is how you bloom."