Monday, February 18, 2013

The Butterfly

I saw a little four-year-old
Out in the grass at play:
He watched a little patch of sun
That came and danced away.

And suddenly his eyes lit up,
He gave a little cry
And clapped his hands in wild de-
He saw a butterfly.

He followed it and tried to catch 
The wonder in his hands;
It flitted on ahead of him
Across the clover-lands.

Again and yet again he tried,
It always flew away,
And let him lonely when the sun
Had vanished from the day.

And through the night the little
Would clutch his hands and cry
Out from his dreams, "Oh, come
to me,
Bright little butterfly."

And this is life with you and me,
Children we are who run
To chase some wonder-spangled
That glistens in the sun.

And when night comes out empty
Clutch at glad dreams that
Up through the silence and the
to shine across our sleep.
* * * *

A baby wishes to kiss this monarch butterfly; she is so sweet.

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