The green blade of grass dripped dry,
After the rain had stopped.
But one little raindrop didn't fall,
And hung on to the grass.
Along came a butterfly, thirsty as can be,
Who saw the little raindrop, hanging on tightly.
She took a little sip,
And flew into the sky,
Goodbye little butterfly.
Then, the little raindrop fell of the blade,
And sank down into the mud.
It sank deeper and deeper,
Into the depths of the unknown.
Jul 26, 2010
Jul 26, 2010 at 7:33 AM UTC
The green blade of grass dripped dry,
After the rain had stopped.
But one little raindrop didn't fall,
And hung on to the grass.
Along came a butterfly, thirsty as can be,
Who saw the little raindrop, hanging on tightly.
She took a little sip,
And flew into the sky,
Goodbye little butterfly.
Then, the little raindrop fell of the blade,
And sank down into the mud.
It sank deeper and deeper,
Into the depths of the unknown.
This poem is copyright. Clara McAdam 2010