love heals

The Tree and the Chrysalis

From the branch of an olive tree

there hung a tiny chrysalis the color of a emerald.

Tomorrow it would be a butterfly, freed from it’s cocoon.

The tree was happy to see his chrysalis grown,

but secretly, he wanted to keep her a few more years.

“So as long as she remembers me.”

He’d shielded her from gusts,

saved her from ants,

but tomorrow she would leave

to affront alone predators and poor weather.

That night,

a fire ravaged the forest, 

and the chrysalis never became a butterfly.

At dawn, the ashes cold, 

the tree still stood, 

but his heart was charred,

scarred by the flames, scarred by grief.

Ever since then, 

when a bird alights on the tree,

the tree tells it about the chrysalis that never woke up.

He pictures her, wings spread, 

flitting across a clear blue sky,

drunk on nectar and freedom,

the discreet witness to our love stories.