Classic Poem

What a day to be born!
And what a place!
Cried the flowers.
" Mais, tu as de la chance, ma chere!"
said the wild geranium
Who was very travelled.
The campions, the bluebells
The daisies and buttercups
The bright little eyebright and the white nettle flower
And a thousand others
All were there to greet her —
And growing so high — so high
Right up to the sky, thought the butterfly,
On either side of a little lane.
Only, my dear, breathed an old snail
Who was hugging the underside of a dock leaf
Dont attempt to cross over.
Keep to this side —
The other side is just the same as this
Believe me — just the same flowers — just the same greeness.
Stay where you are and have your little flutter in Peace —
That was enough for the butterfly.
What an idea! Never to go out into the open?
Never to venture forth?
To live, creeping up and down this side.
Her wings quivered with scorn.
Really, said she, I am not a snail!
And away she flew.
But just at that moment a dirty looking dog
Its mean tail between its legs
Came loping down the lane.
It just glanced aside at the butterfly — did not bite
Just gave a feeble snap and ran further.
But she was dead.
Little fleck of cerise and black
She lay in the dust.
Everybody was sorry except the Bracken —
Which never cares about anything, one way or the other.