A BUTTERFLY by G.

Eustace Owen A butterfly rested upon a flower, Gay was he and light as a flake, And there he met a caterpillar Sobbing as though his heart would break; It hurt the happy butterfly To see a caterpillar cry. Said he, Whatever is the matter? And may I help in any way? I ve lost my brother, wept the other, He s been unwell for many a day; Now I discover, sad to tell, He s only a dead and empty shell. Unhappy grub, be done with weeping, Your sickly brother is not dead; His body s stronger and no longer Crawls like a worm, but flies instead. He dances through the sunny hours And drinks sweet nectar from the flowers. Away, away deceitful villain, Go to the winds where you belong. I won t be grieving at your leaving, So take away your lying tongue. Am I a foolish slug or snail, To swallow such a fairy tale? I ll prove my words, you unbeliever, Now listen well, and look at me. I am none other than your brother, Alive and well and fancy free. Soon you ll be with me in the skies Among the flirting butterflies. Ah! cried the mournful caterpillar, Tis clear I must be seeing things. You re only a spectre sipping nectar, Flicking your ornamental wings, And talking nonsense by the yard. I will not hear another word. The butterfly gave up the struggle. I have, he said, no more to say. He spread his splendid wings and ascended Into the air and flew away. And while he fluttered far and wide, The caterpillar sat and cried.