carelessly and harshly the young gardener brushed the butterfly away from his face. she spiralled done like a jet on death plunge hitting the ground hard.
Bruised battered and sore she lay there feeling all hope had gone and death was about to over take her this was confirmed when a dark shadow fell over her. but no....... it was the head gardener. he gently scooped her up and placed her back on the eagerly waiting fading blossom.
she lay there barely hanging on the flower desperately tried to enfold her in its petals
then a tiny ray of loving warm sun caress her bruised and hurting wings stretching them carefully she allowed the warmth to course through slowly she fluttered them up and down. suddendly she was free again to fly for a while longer and bring the essence of life to the blooms
we my friends are the blooms and the butterflies are our freesouls and spirits and the lesson here to me is that no matter how many times the other people bat you down rise up again and fly with pride. petal