Butterfly Poetry

After Wings

Grey butterfly on ground

This was your butterfly, you see,
His fine wings made him vain:
The caterpillars crawl, but he
Passed them in rich disdain.
My pretty boy says, “Let him be
Only a worm again!”

O child, when things have learned to wear
Wings once, they must be fain
To keep them always high and fair:
Think of the creeping pain
Which even a butterfly must bear
To be a worm again!

By Sarah Morgan Bryan Piatt (1833–1908)

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