When I was but a child, a butterfly landed on my hand. I wanted to capture it. But I knew, if I closed my hand fast enough to snatch it out of the air as it tried to escape, I would utterly smash it. The important thing, the most important thing still until this very day, is that I let it fly away. I did not crush the butterfly.
(Not exactly a poem, but not prose either…)
Catch a Falling Star 