A butterfly, one summer morn,
Sat on a spray of a blossoming thorn
And, as he sipped and drank his share
Of honey from the flowered air,
Below, upon the garden wall,
A caterpillar chanced to crawl.
"Horrors!" The butterfly exclaimed,
"This must be stopped! I am ashamed
That each as I should have to be
In the same world with such as he.
Preserve me from such hideous things!
Disgusting shape! Were are his wings!
Fuzzy and gray! Eater of clay!
Won't someone take the worm away!"
The caterpillar hunched ahead,
But as he munched a leaf, he said,
"Eight days ago, young butterfly,
you wormed about, the same as I.
Within a fortnight from today
Two wings will bear me far away
To brighter blooms and lovelier lures,
With colors that out rival yours.
So, flutter-flit, be not so proud;
Each caterpillar is endowed
With power to make him, by and by,
A blithe and brilliant butterfly.
While you, who scorn the common clay,
You, in your livery so gay,
And all the gaudy moths, and millers,
Are only dressed up caterpillars"
Joseph Lauren
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