The dead butterfly

It was lying brown

Face down

As I walked to my work today.

It was cold

(and stiff) to hold---

Stretched wings, lying face down

All brown 

And covered in dust...

Might be grey, not brown

How does it matter, said I.

It's dead

Body,wing and head

Never more to fly...

A prickly caterpillar it was

Some months back

Borrowed colors from the rainbow

Returned them, must be

Just as it was time  to go...

From the dust to the dust

Grey and brown to brown and grey

It was stiff to hold

Lying cold

As I walked up the stairs

In the morning today.