I’ll fly and you’ll run, the butterfly said.
We’ll see and enjoy all those flowers of red.
In the colorful pastures my wings soar over,
Your nose can smell the sweet scent of clover.
When my wings get tired, I can land for a rest.
If your feet get tired, you’ll sit; that is best.
They’re different that way, my wings and your feet,
but we are still friends and our friendship runs deep.
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