Gentle Harm

Today, as I was unlocking my door, a butterfly hovered before me.
It lingered as if asking to be let inside.
For a moment, I thought of opening the door wider, then I hesitated.
Inside it would trap itself, fluttering against walls and windows,
yearning for the flowers and sky it could no longer reach.
So I raised my hand to send it away, but the force of my hand was too much
for something so fragile.
It spun to the ground, wings broken of their purpose.
I stood their for a long while.
My kindness had become its undoing.
The butterfly never entered my home, but it left something behind.