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Orangish-yellow thing with one big green eye in the middle of your packing-peanut head and squishy, segmented body like a diced carrot, I'm sorry I moved you from where you lay on the lawn, for I thought you were dying of thirst, but you were only waiting to become a cocoon; when I moved you, I interrupted the process and you never got to become a butterfly. I didn't mean to stop you. I just didn't know what you we're doing -- honestly . . . You just died there and I found you, all black and dry.
Adam Crawford is a writer of poems and short stories. His work has been published by Ink Babies Lit Mag, Poetic Anarchy Press and The Pomegranate London. He lives in Simi Valley, California.
This is a beautiful poem. I love poems about nature. Thank you for sharing.