With beaker in my hand, I walk to the place where I last stand.
Squating on the land, I reach out my hand.
To dig upon the sand, until the very end.
And there it lays, my experiment soil.
Mother of the plants, nanny of the bugs.
Where she breeds and raises them up.
Purple flying pass my sight, stopping on the right.
Such gentle and tender touch too, can make it run away.
First, second and third I've tried.
Finally, it is mine, after the dragonfly.
With the remaining four legs, it stares into my eyes.
Through the container where it is being held.
Wonder, what may happen even if it shouts.
I don't want to, I said, but I have to.
Looking at the insect with four, I leave it on the floor.
At the side of the staircase, being swallowed by the hole.
The last moment of its life, of the pretty butterfly.
