She placed a paper flat on earth.
She let the caterpillar climb.
She raised an edge in tsunami.
She let the white drown the brown.
I, Nephew Dearest, stood in fear:
I saw a murdered potential,
Before it dared become a dream
Of coloured flight and free delight.
“We must go back and study now.
No more of silly distractions.”
In hands of hers I saw the page
In which I’d drawn the butterfly.

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