Once I was a Butterfly,
With colored wings I flew so high,
Up toward the sun in the clear, blue sky.
Once I was a Butterfly.

Once I was a tall Pine-Tree.
I towered above the canopy,
And saw all that there was to see.
Once I was a tall Pine-Tree.

Once I was a Shooting Star.
Beyond the Moon I soared so far.
I burned so bright but did not char.
Once I was a Shooting Star.

Once I was an ocean Wave.
I splashed the children while they played.
I touched the sand but never stayed.
Once I was an ocean Wave.

Once I was a Little Girl,
Who thought the Earth was like a pearl,
But saw her dreams dashed by the world.
Once I was a Little Girl.

Oh little bird with such sweet sound,
Why do you sit upon the ground,
When you could soar and flit and flutter,
And get away from all the clutter,
Which threatens peace and clouds the mind,
And deafens ears and makes eyes blind?

I hear you singing from your tree.
Your music seems to beckon me.
To fly would be a lovely thing,
To soar above on feathered wings,
To escape from that which plagues me so,
And chuckle at the ground below.

Alas, dear bird, it cannot be,
For I am bound by Gravity.