Incomplete

Like a crisp autumn leaf

She tumbles through the sky.

Driven by the wind

For she cannot fly.

So delicate, so fragile she is

Dainty, petite – raw.

For even the most perfect of things

Are sure to have their flaws.

There are so many things

That she cannot be.

Trapped in a world of her own

Broken – in all that beauty.

What use is a butterfly

Who cannot fly?

Lost. Trapped. Broken. Outcast.

...If not for that dry, shrivelled wing...

A/N - Done for school, and we were supposed to write it on one of the themes/issues/whatnot from the text we were studying. I'll leave it to you, as the reader and reviewer, to try and guess what theme it centres on. There are also a few connections between the title and the poem itself. Let's see if you can pick it out. Reviews and con-crits, please.

Edit - There seems to be something wrong with the formatting...there were supposed to be four stanzas of four lines.