Long ago, there was a butterfly,
Its membrane wings, thin plastic,
Its precious lifeblood, oil.
Humming from flower to flower,
It never strayed from chartered paths.
Proboscis feeding, but never tasting,
Body consuming, but never growing.
Long ago, there was a butterfly,
Its brain, a mother board,
Its memory, four hundred and ten megabytes.
******* up all the nectar,
It never imagined the damage it would do.
Sensors scanning, but never seeing,
Motors whirring, but never beating.
Long ago, there was a butterfly,
Its cold limbs, now crippled,
Its power, all run out.
Collecting dust on a barren field,
The butterfly never lived, and so it never died.
It moved, but never thought,
It flew, but was never free.
