An angel flew into a rose
Upon a morning bright,
And rested there, mid crimson silk -
The scene was a delight!

And those who passed by all admired
Her beauty, like a vision -
Until they saw the caterpillar -
They sneered, in cruel derision:

�Why does a pure angel like you
Touch that revolting thing?
And why tell it the things of Heaven,
And how the angels sing?�

The fair one quietly replied:
�It looks crude, sad and shy,
But I can see its lovely soul,
A glorious butterfly!

�Twill one day soar and dance on wings,
As now it only dreams.
Please give it gentle love and care;
Don�t judge by what it seems.�

�David John
Oxford, England
United Kingdom
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.


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