The Butterfly And The Ant Poem by Emil Sharafutdinov

From Krylov

A flighty Butterfly has sung
Through all summer in the sun;
Before she had time to think,
Winter rolled up in a wink.
Clear fields are now dead;
No more those days ahead
When she had a meal and room
Under every tree in bloom.
All is gone: with winter snow
Need and hunger come along;
And the Butterfly no song
Makes of it - who would go on
Singing on a stomach hollow!
Feeling awfully depressed,
To the Ant she appeals next,
"Leave me not, my dear friend,
Only let my spirits mend
And until the coming spring,
You look after my well-being! "
"Sister, you are quite a bummer, "
He says, "Did you work in summer? "
"Please, my dear, have some pity,
In soft grass we every day
Spent on singing songs and play
And my head went quite giddy."
"But to work…"
"I had no chance -
The whole summer I was singing."
"You were singing? That's a beginning,
Now you had better dance! "