I Made A Butterfly

I made a butterfly.  I breathed him to life.
I watched him flutter away.
A part of me wished he'd fly far and well.
Another, that he would stay.
A third part of me, the strongest yet,
Wanted, him, to be,
For oft in life I have this wish to be
Anything but me.
Whose butterfly have I been?
Do any wish to be me?
Or are all glad they aren't confused, like me,
When they look around to see?
I made a butterfly.  He said to take heart.
I had not known I could.
But if I could create such living beauty,
Maybe, probably, I should.
When I make another butterfly,
Will anyone take note?
Or will no one remember the precious, sacred, wondrous things
I wrote?
She was a sorrowing friend of a friend.
A friend that pulled her close,
Brought her to me, to hear inspiration.
I gave her another's dose.
For when words come without forethought
To the mind I own,
I know that Someone Else has planted
The words I reap, all grown.
I made a butterfly.
My butterfly saved a life.
As another sought to end her own,
Suffering in her strife.
She then went, got on a train,
And seeing a stranger, smiled.
This stranger, suffering too,
Will now still live a while.
It's hard at times to try, again,
Not knowing, always, why.
But when you see someone in need,
Pause
To make a butterfly.

Adam Scott Campbell