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Oh Mama look, a flutter-by,
her tiny hand held out to me.
She grasped it firmly in her fist
afraid to set it free.


Lovingly I showed her
one of life's most painful tests:
sometimes the ones we love the most
we hurt more than the rest.


The butterfly was still alive
but alas, its wings were bent.
This tiny miracle of grace
its rainbow all but spent.


The magic dust was there to see.
Tears welled up in her eyes.
I hugged her gently and I said,
"A real love never dies."


We spoke again of letting go,
of holding love less tightly,
to hold it gently in our hearts
shows love much more when lightly.


That day when she was very small
we more than mourned a butterfly.
We shared a magic, tender moment.
I'll always thank the flutter-by.