Mary Dow Brine


Butterflies

Creatures of golden, sunshiny weather,
Coquetting with blossoms for hours together!

Happiest ever when skies are blue,
And sunshine your merriest moments woo!

Bright-robed and beautiful, artless and gay,
Merrily idling the summer away.

Much ye remind me, butterflies bright,
Of a winsome maiden, with heart as light

And fickle as yours, as the days go by;
Fit for only a sunshiny sky!

Coquetting with hearts and love awhile,
Then off and away with a careless smile.

But when the summer at last has fled,
Butterflies' holiday, too, lies dead.
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