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I dreamed I was a butterfly
with purple spots and wings
was born right near the Lorelei
that's where the fisher sings.
Set free one day, above the cliff
I soared to cloudy skies
my wings at first felt very stiff
and tears fell from my eyes.
I did not mean to let them go
so let my body drop
by now I'd reached the river Po
and needed a brief stop.
I sat upon a thistle tree
it had such pretty flowers
it was not shy and talked to me
we whiled away the hours.
The thistle tree talked of the woods
where life is always real
where wolves and hawks and Robin Hoods
compete for every meal.
I could not wait and rose with grace
wings pointed to the trees
and at the edge, among some lace
I met a hive of bees.
'Please, pretty little butterfly
stay out from darkness here
the forest is where critters cry
and many die of fear.'
I disregarded this advice
and passed the talking brook
I've heard that honeybees tell lies
and I was no dumb sook.
There was a tree so tall and big
I asked 'Are you an oak? '
And he extended a small twig
which did in me evoke
a smile at all this friendliness
I shook the little twig
and thought it would be nearly bliss
to live within the wig
that this big oak had grown up high
to shelter birds and spiders
the words from bees came back so why
had I not seen the hiders
the ones that hunt and kill for lust
most notably at night
I asked again, he said 'you must
be told about your right
to live a life without the stress
of fearing for your life
that's why I've grown so tall, God bless
and saved from cruel strife
a hundred birds and other things
they've made their home with me
and even though they do have wings
they are not really free.
Behind each bush there stands a beast
who wants to maim and kill
the forest is the Devil's Feast
that's why it is so still.'
'Do you advise, ' I asked again
'that I go to the Rhine
where frogs and storks and fishermen
abscond with what is mine? '
'I do suggest, ' the big oak said
'that you look in your heart
it is not often that one's head
makes choices that are smart.
I welcome you to my plain tree
the forest is my home
but happiness, if you ask me
is like a little gnome.
Its size is small and ridicule
is easily assigned
but only a pathetic fool
would miss the kindly mind.
So stay my friend, light up the leaves
and make yourself a nest
and in those wonderful late eves
our song will help you rest.'
Herbert Nehrlich
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