May 27, 2001


A Poem on a Sunday Afternoon


we joyful view the butterfly

which lovely oft’ does flutter by

its early form gives death the lie

becomes 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 triumphant rise to reign on high



Changed order of "triumphant" and "rise"


Changed "gave" to "give" and "became" to "becomes"