Said the turtle to the butterfly,

“How is it you fly so high?

While I lie lonely on the sand—

A prisoner to the mighty land.

 You soar and laugh and feel the mirth

That I could never feel on Earth.

Oh, give me your wings, how I yearn to fly—

To somersault through a starlit sky.

 I’d leap and sail past the smile of the sun—

While calling—hello!—oh, that would be fun.

Please, my friend, won’t you hear my plea?

And gift your wings of freedom to me?”

“So, it’s freedom you want?” the butterfly said

After he’d gathered the thoughts in his head.

“I hate to tell you this, but just so you see—

In freedom there’s merit, but freedom’s not free.

 Yes, I can frolic and dance through the stars.

I can perch atop dogwood trees to view all that is ours.

But there are thousands—no, millions—of wanting for things.

And the one that you ask for is the gift of my wings?

 I have no nest to call my own—

The orioles and blue jays keep destroying my home.

I have nowhere to sit and rest—

No friends of my own, no one to call “best”.

 You live in the pond with the fish and the frogs

Lounging and sunning and gossiping on logs.

And laughing all day with the guppies and fish—

And the freedom to fly is your only wish?

 I can fly high, but let it be known—

Those who can do it must do it alone.

I’ll take up your offer, but please, be aware—

When a deal isn’t equal and to whom it’s not fair.”

That night, there was quiet in the lake and the sky—

That began with the turtle and the red butterfly.

Turtle photo by Melissa Keizer on Unsplash

Butterfly photo by Justin DoCanto on Unsplash