This butterfly was in the grass outside of my office. It was rather large and its wings were gorgeous. I'm pretty sure it was dieing. It sat on the grass, its wings hardly moving. Nor did it fly away scared off by my approach.
I am a worm saver. I will move worms from the hot pavement to the cool grass, saving them from death by dehydration. If I have compassion for the squiggly, brown dirt eater, I certainly wanted to do something for the glorious butterfly. But what could one do? You can't even touch it due to do the delicate dust of its wings. So I snapped my picture and went on with my day.
If I am moved to action by the soulless insect, how much more should I be by the downtrodden and lost of my own kind that have eternal significance?
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