The Little Butterfly

Once upon a time,

they called you

all these pretty things.

How small and kind

you were,

you never

made them cry.

And like a little butterfly

you danced around the room,

laughing that little laugh

so no-one would be sad.

They called you

a ray of light,

a moonbeam

made by gods,

pretty girl,

an angel,

who would never cry.

But time went by

and the people fast forgot

about that ray of light

who once made them smile.

They stopped hearing

that little laugh

and with time

they start to cry,

for they had lost the joy

of the little butterfly.

And there you were,

all alone,

roaming those rooms

now filled whole with gloom.

The kind, angelic girl

is now laughing sad.

The little moonbeam,

making of the gods,

now isn’t looking up;

all she does is cry.

But don’t you worry,

little butterfly,

moonbeam,

ray of light:

you are one of a kind.

And one day,

little butterfly,

you will no more cry,

but you will learn to fly.

You will fly

far away from here

to a place

behind the sky

where you will learn

again how to smile.

So rejoice,

little butterfly,

for now is time to fly.