Here's a quick poem on butterflies many of whom met an untimely end on the front of my car last weekend. Aw!
An Explanation
Arthur Wallace Peach
I often think a butterfly
With golden, shining wings
Most beautiful of all the earth's
Wee flying things.
Sometimes I fancy that he is
A sunbeam sailing round
Flitting here and there so still
He makes no sound.
And once I guess how he is made:
Upon his wings I saw
A diagram in black such as
Someone might draw.
It looked as if whoever drew
The lines had been in doubt,
And then was pleased, and so forgot
To run them out!
