I watched a dragonfly die today.
Its gossamer wings, bright blue markings and beautiful iridescent eyes:
Terror of the sky.
I wonder how many smaller insects met their fate in its crushing jaws during its brief season of life.
Mosquitoes, gnats and flies:
For it to live,
They had to die.
And now it sits quietly;
Barely moving except for an occasional reflexive stretch of a leg or its tail;
Waiting patiently for the inevitable end.
No struggling or crying,
Just quietly dying.
With me sitting by its side.
Grieving its passing
For no better reason than that it is beautiful, and it was alive.
Is the world a better place for its living?
Or a worse place for its passing?
What other being besides this silly, aging human
Wastes a moment’s thought on such questions?
No, only I.
Wondering if anyone will care
On the day
When I die.