After Wings Poem by Sarah Morgan Bryan Piatt
After Wings
This was your butterfly, you see,
His fine wings made him vain:
The caterpillars crawl, but he
Passed them in rich disdain.
My pretty boy says, 'Let him be
only a warm again!'
O child, when things have learned to wear
Sings once, they must be fain
To keep them always high and fair:
Think of the creeping pain
Which even a butterfly must bear
To be a warm again!
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9/22/2024 4:56:40 PM # 1.0.0.1119
