Butterfly

In the middle of our porridge plates

There was a blue butterfly painted

And each morning we wondered who should reach the

butterfly first.

Then Grandmother said: "Do not eat the poor

butterfly."

That made us all laugh.

Always she said it and always it started us laughing.

It seemed such a sweet little joke.

I was certain that one fine morning

The butterfly would fly out of our plates,

Laughing the teeniest laugh in the world,

And perch on our Grandmother's lap.