A butterfly.

I wish my semi-friend Julie could imagine herself as a butterfly. She's trapped. In a self-made prison. That's the curse of depression.  But one doesn't need to chisel through a wall to escape. I have a better way. Convert the prison cell into a cocoon. And become a beautiful butterfly. Free to be happy again. By fluttering one's wings. In a graceful dance. From flower to flower to flower. --Jim Broede