Grandfather Poem by Bryan Sefton

You were the giant against the sky
I am kneeling on the ground
Cupping a large white butterfly
Sounding a triumphant cry
At having brought the fellow down
And you say, your voice coming out of the Sun
'All the work that God has done
All the wonder that he's spun
Is choking In your hand'
I open my fingers and turn
Watching the butterfly as it burns
A path across the sky

Time passes. A young boy grows to man
An old man goes to child again
Your hand in mind became a frailsome thing
As fragile as the butterflies wing
Fluttering in the sun
Had I known I would have held on tight
And squeezed and squeezed with all my might
For all the work that God had done
All the wonder that he'd spun
Became the butterfly, and was gone.