I remembering capturing a butterfly

As a child in a small net i found at home

A little white bag on a stick meant for fish

Orange and black and perfect

I put it in a jar with grass and leaves

Poked holes in the metal cap for air

Mum said –

You have to let it go Peter

It can’t stay there or it will die

I was angry but I knew the truth of it

So out i went… removed the lid

It flew away and i never did see it again

The right thing to do felt wrong

The right thing to do made me want to cry

But i do what I’m told

It has always been the way