Creeping along the kitchen table An insect. Its legs scrabbling furiously to grip. Its hardened shell is black, but in the sun glimmers red And green, like a jewel. This jewel is still precious in this moment, this time, This fragment of fate. It saddens me to think the walking emerald, this scurrying Ruby is worthless outside of this room. Outside this world. It then reached the end of the table. It seemed to undertsand that the end of its journey was Approaching. It hauled itself over the table, falling for what seemed Miles. It then picked itself up and turned around. Lifting itself it paused, then flewup and around searching For itself it seemed before finding the open window and Freeing itself. A pity it would no longer be appreciated I thought. In that world outside it wasn't the jewel it was before. In its freedom it had lost its beauty.