They found a severed hand in the woods

One morning

Somebody had left it in a shoebox

With little holes cut in the lid

As if the hand could breathe.

They argued about the hand at first

One of them wanted to tell the police

The other said it was good luck

To keep the hand around.

So they took the hand home, and

Kept it in their treehouse

Carefully hidden away

Until it started to rot

And their father found out

And went to fetch the sheriff

But when he returned

The hand had changed

From crumbling flesh and bone

Into a beautiful butterfly.



© Copyright David Marriott  all rights reserved­.