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Perhaps to be a butterfly,
That flutters through the air,

To taste each flower as I go
From here to everywhere.

To soar along on colored wings,
Beneath the summer sun,

To fly along each fence and field,
And do it just for fun.

But, what to do when winter comes
With wind and ice and snow?

What happens then, where do I hide?
I really do not know.

I think I'll stay just as I am,
At least a little while,

But, as I watch each butterfly,
Then to myself I'll smile.

James Browne