From Cocoon Forth a Butterfly
Emily Dickinson 1830-86
From cocoon forth a butterfly
As lady from her door
Emerged-a summer afternoon-
Repairing everywhere,
Without design, that I could trace,
Except to stray abroad
On miscellaneous enterprise
The clovers understood.
Her pretty parasol was seen
Contracting in a field
Where men made hay, then struggling hard
With an opposing cloud,
Where parties, phantom as herself,
To Nowhere seemed to go
In purposeless circumference,
As 't were a tropic show.
And notwithstanding bee that worked,
And flower that zealous blew,
This audience of idleness
Disdained them from the sky.
Till sundown crept, a steady tide,
And men that made hay,
And afternoon, and butterfly,
Extinguished in its sea.
From the Chrysalis
Emily Dickinson 1830-86
My cocoon tightens, colors tease,
I'm feeling for the air;
A dim capacity for wings
Degrades the dress I wear.
A power of butterfly must be
The aptitude to fly,
Meadows of majesty concedes
And easy sweeps of sky.
So I must baffle at the hint
And cipher at the sign,
And make much blunder, if at last
I take the clew divine.
Butterfly Wishes
Author unknown
Yesterday a butterfly
Came floating gently through the sky,
He soared up through the atmosphere
Then drifted close enough to hear
I said, "I'd love to fly with you
And sail around the way you do.
It looks like it would be such fun
To fly up toward the summer sun.
But I have not your graceful charm.
I haven't wings, just these two arms.
I've been designed to walk around.
My human feet must touch the ground.
Then magically he spoke to me
and told me what his wish would be.
He said, "What I'd love most to do
Is walk upon God's Earth with you,
To squish it's mud between my toes
Or touch my finger to my nose.
I'd love just once to walk around
With human feet to touch the ground,
But I have not two legs that swing,
I haven't arms, just these two wings."
And so we went our separate ways
In wonder and surprise.
For we'd both seen God's precious gifts
Through someone else's eyes.
Just living is not enough, said the butterfly. One must have sunshine, freedom and a little flower.
-Hans Christian Anderson
I only ask to be free. The butterflies are free.
-Charles Dickens
Smiles to the sky, towards a butterfly Marie