Lily of the Valley


A simple thing was Lily,

without preconceived

notions -

notions.

Content in her picturesque,

butterfly-filled valley,

she danced in gentle rains

and breathed in the heady scent

of dewy purple Irises.

Lily breathed out love and laughter,

for that is all that she was after.

Until one day when the men came.

They scratched themselves in odd places and announced

LOUDLY,

in rough-sounding language she did not understand,

“We are SOCIETY, we make up the rules!”

“What’s all this, we are here to inspect -

who are you, state your name fairy,

who is your employer, where is your dwelling

and your property deed?”

Society, getting no response from Lily, seized her harshly and had

a look around.

Seeing no one else and finding not a single building,

they put chains on her and declared her a slave.

Soon giant yellow machines came and tore up the earth,

running off the butterflies and murdering

the Irises.

Lily wept silent, anguished tears

as she

watched the destruction.

Factories, ugly and bloated, were built,

the sole innocent river, became filthy

with contaminated gunk.

Lily, poor Lily,

she’d been put to work -

sewing sleeves on t-shirts,

so that greedy, grubby,

Society

could make

money

and hold it in their pudgy hands.

No more laughter. No more dancing.

The butterflies and flowers long gone -

replaced by

progress.

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