May 27, 2001

A Poem on a Sunday Afternoon

we joyful view the butterfly

which lovely oft’ does flutter by

its early form gave death the lie

became a feast to please the eye

in wondrous hue upon the sky

of such beauty our own may shy

with scarce more than a quiet sigh

but such response would truth deny

for none but man did God’s Son die

and rise triumphant to reign on high