Broken wing

There is nothing sadder to me than a butterfly without a wing. It is something immeasurably pathetic, a thing that can never be replaced, never grown back, or remade. It takes so long to create a wing, the pinnacle of a short life, to be ruined in a moment, always broken, until the fragile life is snuffed out- A loss of life un-needful and unmarked by a hurried world. The beat of a butterflies wing can create whirlwinds… how much more meaningful is the death of one so small?