Butterfly

Butterfly, fly away. It’s time for you to go.
Butterfly, fly away. Amidst the soft white snow.
Butterfly, with wings on air, as you stare at us below.
Butterfly, Butterfly. I guess we’ll never know.

“But spring comes fast.” She whispers.
“And things will grow again.”
“And once I was a dream, it seems,”
“That I hoped would never end.”

Butterfly, our Butterfly,
With wings of snowy white.
We all stand upon the ground,
While you’ve been given flight.

Butterfly, fly away.
It’s time for you to go.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispers soft,
“And, someday, you too will know.”

Written in loving memory of Jenny Rigby Stam.

-Sean Critchfield

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