Snowbell hailed a butterfly,
'Come to me, dear butterfly, slow wandering this way.'
The butterfly beat her wings sometime,
Then on her hand she lay.
Gentle quivering feelers and velvet scalloped wings,
Snowbell saw it all so clear,
Those were such pretty things.
The wings a shade of blue one could never match,
Despite the vivid prettiness,
The butterfly, Snowbell would not catch.
The butterfly stirred its wings,
And beat them in gentle play,
It flew into the air,
And into the day!
by Marnie Izatt (10)
Carron Primary School, Falkirk
Competition - Out Of This World
Copyright remains with the author.