Butterfly, butterfly flying through the air,
flittering here and flittering there.
Landing on a flower just ahead,
your wings glow on a flower bed.
I imagine my grandma’s flowers with color,
each one is unique, not like the other.
It was in the spring with fragrance everywhere,
it was happy times without a care.
In backyard I did climb a tree,
hurt my hand with a twig, I did scream.
Rushed to the doctors really fast,
they put stitches in, they didn’t last.
Found memories of bread baking in air,
a special time I did share.
with Grandmother who is special and sweet,
she made all kinds of goodies and treats.
Like marsh mellows with fruit and whip topping too,
I liked eating it after my dinner was through.
Memories of the farm I will remember,
like Christmas time in December.
Written By Suzanna Chevalier on November 3,2011
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