Grandpa Pencil's
Works of the great poets

Butterflies
John Davidson

At sixteen years she knew no care;
How could she, sweet and pure as light?
And there persued her everywhere
Butterflies all white.

A lover looked. She dropped her eyes
That glowed like pansies wet with dew;
And lo, there came from out the skies
Butterflies all blue.

Before she guessed her heart was gone;
The tale of love was swiftly told;
And all about her wheeled and shone
Butterflies all gold.

Then he forsook her one fine morn;
She wept and sobbed, "Oh, love, come back!"
There only came to her forlorn
Butterflies all black.


John Davidson

     

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