Poet: Unknown
Once as a child many years ago...
on a balmy summer's eve.
I sat in the yard at my Mother's side...
and a butterfly lit at my sleeve.
"It's a sign of good luck", my Mother said.
As the butterfly stayed at my arm...
"It's a symbol of all the beauty in life.
Make sure you do it no harm."
First butterflies are eggs and after they hatch...
they see that their life's just beginning.
They're content with their lot in life,
so, they go out on a limb and start spinning.
They stay out awhile in a magic cocoon....
then emerge like flowers in spring.
Then they share the story of their victory and success...
through each of the colors of their wings.
The gold in their wings is the "Golden Rule"...
To follow that is a must.
The blue....That means true blue.
Always be someone people can trust.
The green of the tip of their wing
is saying Stay green, and you'll always grow.
The silver is the lining in the clouds of doubt...
that you must look for as you go through life.
Butterflies bend with the wind, it's true.
Still they get where they want to go.
They arrive by persistence through their own insistence...
A lesson more people should know.
Sought and valued by the whole human race...
For their beauty, tenacity and charm.
If a butterfly ever chances to stay at your sleeve...
remember, my friend, don't fight it, but,
learn all you can from the butterfly clan.
And you too, may become a rare item.
Poet: Catherine Pulsifer
We look and see the butterfly
Its beauty seems to multiply
When the sun hits it wings
Amazing colors it does brings.
Oh how fun it would be
To be a butterfly so free
But what I do not see
Is the difficulties
You see life is not easy
It is not all dreamy
The butterfly has struggles
In the cocoon, there can be trouble.
He must persevere to get out
It is up to him he has no clout
He must not give up
If so, he will not develop
Just like the life we live
We must put life in perspective
We all face challenges we must overcome
And when we do life is awesome!
So when you see the butterfly
Remember for life you must apply
The very best that you can be
And you will find life to be happy.
Poet: Lady Fiora Hastings
Butterfly, butterfly, brilliant and bright,
How very often I envy your flight;
I think I should like through the whole summer day.
Like you, pretty insect, to flutter and play.
Butterfly, butterfly, onward you fly —
Now skimming so lowly, now rising so high.
First on the jessamine, then on the rose.
Then you will visit the pinks, I suppose.
Now you are resting, pray let me come near;
I will not hurt you, nor touch you, don't fear;
Mamma says my hand is too heavy by far.
To touch such little creatures as butterflies are.
Now you are off again. Butterfly, stay;
Don't fly away from me, butterfly, pray.
Just let me look at your beautiful wings;
Oh! it does not mind me, but upward it springs.
Poet: Althea Randolph
Flitter, Flutter, go your wings,
Pretty Butterfly;
You will never play with me;
Won't you tell me why?
If I had a pair of wings
On my back like you.
Do you think you'd love me more?
Tell me, is this true?
Poet: Unknown
Out in the garden, wee Elsie
Was gathering flowers for me;
Oh, mamma,' she cried, hurry, hurry,
Here's something I want you to see."
I went to the window; before her
A velvet-winged butterfly flew,
And the pansies themselves were not brighter
Than the beautiful creature in hue.
Oh! isn't it pretty? cried Elsie,
With eager and wondering eyes,
As she watched it soar lazily upward
Against the soft blue of the skies.
I know what it is, don't you, mamma?
(Oh! the wisdom of these little things,
When the soul of the poet is in them!)
It's a pansy — a pansy with wings.
Poet: Nixon Waterman
Do you remember, sister dear, the golden summers long ago.
When you and I through happy fields so gladly wandered to and fro?
Do you recall the dewy morns we loitered on our way to school
To watch the butterflies that danced about the margin of the pool?
We loved the green of hill and vale, we loved the blue that bent above;
The brooks, the birds, the whispering woods, yet more than these we seemed to love -
More than the pale wild-rose, half hid beneath the hedges dark and cool -
The yellow butterflies that danced about the margin of the pool.
Oh, long the paths of life and long the tender, clinging dreams of youth.
But truth leads up to beauty still, and beauty still leads up to truth.
And in our memories we hold, through all of life's dull book and rule,
The yellow butterflies that danced about the margin of the pool.
Poet: Unknown
Yesterday a butterfly
Came floating gently through the sky.
He soared up through the atmosphere
Then drifted close enough to hear.
I said, “I’d love to fly with you
And sail around the way you do.
It looks like it would be such fun
To fly up toward the summer sun.
But I have not your graceful charm.
I haven’t wings, just these two arms.
I’ve been designed to walk around.
My human feet must touch the ground.
Then magically he spoke to me
And told me what his wish would be.
He said, “What I’d love most to do
Is walk upon God’s Earth with you,
To squish it’s mud between my toes
Or touch my finger to my nose.
I’d love just once to walk around
With human feet to touch the ground,
But I have not two legs that swing,
I haven’t arms, just these two wings.”
And so we went our separate ways
In wonder and surprise.
For we’d both seen God’s precious gifts
Through someone else’s eyes.
Poet: Sallie M. B. Piatt
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!
Poet: William Wordsworth
I’ve watched you now a full half-hour;
Self-poised upon that yellow flower
And, little Butterfly! indeed
I know not if you sleep or feed.
How motionless!–not frozen seas
More motionless! and then
What joy awaits you, when the breeze
Hath found you out among the trees,
And calls you forth again!
This plot of orchard-ground is ours;
My trees they are, my Sister’s flowers;
Here rest your wings when they are weary;
Here lodge as in a sanctuary!
Come often to us, fear no wrong;
Sit near us on the bough!
We’ll talk of sunshine and of song,
And summer days, when we were young;
Sweet childish days, that were as long
As twenty days are now.
Poet: Unknown
Butterflies go fluttering by
On colored wings that catch the eye.
On wings of orange, and silvery blue,
On wings of golden yellow, too.
Butterflies float in the air,
Making their homes most anywhere:
The rainforest, field, and prairie land,
On mountaintops, and desert sand.
If winter brings the cold and snow,
To warmer climates, off they go!
Returning home the following spring,
Beautiful butterflies on the wing!
Poet: William H. Davies
Here’s an example from
A Butterfly;
That on a rough, hard rock
Happy can lie;
Friendless and all alone
On this unsweetened stone.
Now let my bed be hard,
No care take I;
I’ll make my joy like this
Small Butterfly;
Whose happy heart has power
To make a stone a flower.
Poet: Emily Dickinson
From cocoon forth a butterfly
As lady from her door
Emerged -a summer afternoon -
Repairing everywhere,
Without design, that I could trace,
Except to stray abroad
On miscellaneous enterprise
The clovers understood.
Her pretty parasol was seen
Contracting in a field
Where men made hay, then struggling hard
With an opposing cloud,
Where parties, phantom as herself,
To Nowhere seemed to go
In purposeless circumference,
As ’twere a tropic show.
And not withstanding bee that worked,
And flower that zealous blew,
This audience of idleness
Disdained them, from the sky,
Till sundown crept, a steady tide,
And men that made the hay,
And afternoon, and butterfly,
Extinguished in its sea.
Poet: Catherine Pulsifer
A child sees a butterfly
And runs to catch it as it goes by
And if they catch they are in delight
They hold it gently not to tight.
But as the years go by
When we see a butterfly
We appreciate the beauty, the colors we see
We admire but allow the butterfly to be free.
We understand the struggle they have had
And just seeing them makes us glad.
Our life is like a butterfly
Struggles we have had we don't deny.
But like the butterfly we experience
Struggles and choices that make a difference
But if we overcome and stay faithful
Like the butterfly, life can be beautiful.
Poet: Victor Hugo
The dawn is smiling on the dew that covers
The tearful roses - lo! the little lovers -
That kiss the buds and all the flutterings
In jasmine bloom, and privet, of white wings
That go and come, and fly, and peep, and hide
With muffled music, murmured far and wide!
Ah, Springtime, when we think of all the lays
That dreamy lovers send to dreamy Mays,
Of the proud hearts within a billet bound,
Of all the soft silk paper that men wound.
The messages of love that mortals write.
Filled with intoxication of delight.
Written in April, and before the Maytime
Shredded and flown, playthings for the winds' playtime,
We dream that all white butterflies above.
Who seek through clouds or waters souls to love.
And leave their lady mistress to despair.
To flirt with flowers, as tender and more fair,
Are but torn love-letters, that through the skies
Flutter, and float, and change to butterflies.
