Sometimes, in the wake from the awful,
The dreams that disturb and frighten,
I would ask for a story,
Something light and happy,
To carry me into peaceful sleep.

With my head cradled by a soft pillow,
And the comforting words against my cheek,
This story was born,
Out of love and hopefulness.

“Once there was a young girl,” you said.
“The sun glistened in her hair,
Glowing bright on her face,
Her cheeks more brilliant than the roses,
As she danced about her garden.

“Amazed at every colorful flower,
Her eyes discovered a new wonder,
In the beautiful wings,
Of an orange butterfly.

“Timidly she asked,
If he would jump into her hand,
With no audible reply,
He did as she asked,
Kissing the palm where he landed.

“They became the best of friends,
And had the most golden afternoons,
Day after day,
Dancing together in the garden,
Amongst the many-colored flowers.

“One night she took the butterfly to bed,
Placed him on her pillow,
And with a yawn, kissed him and said goodnight,
And as she fell asleep,
He spoke,
‘Goodnight, my love.’

“The next morning when she awoke,
Her butterfly was not the same,
He appeared wilted, his eyes tired,
And a black lining throughout his wings.

“Cupping him in her hands,
She quickly took him outside,
Hoping the sun would revive him,
But his wings only grew darker.

“She looked into his face,
And when she saw that he was crying,
She held him close,
‘My butterfly, what has happened?’

‘I am dying, my love,’ he said,
‘We butterflies do not live as long as you,
But you have given me the greatest joy,
In my short life,
And now you must let me go.’

“Kissing him, she reluctantly lifted him to the sky,
He flew from her hands into the clouds,
And she called after him,
‘I will love you for always,’
As he looked back at her,
Tears running down her once-rosy cheeks.

“Many years went by,
And one day when the girl was a woman,
Digging in her mother’s garden,
She came upon a familiar sight,
That took her breath away.

“It was a beautiful orange butterfly,
It’s wings lined in black,
She smiled and said,
‘How I have missed you,’
As the butterfly flew up,
To kiss her rosy cheek,
As it had done so many years ago.

“All her life, as she traveled the world,
No matter how far and wide,
The orange and black butterfly followed,
And stuck close by her side.

“So if one day you encounter,
A monarch butterfly,
There is a good chance,
It’s on it’s way,
To the woman who let it fly long ago.”

And with a kiss to my rosy cheek,
I awake to a new day,
Hoping the metaphor comes true.