There is a green, sun-drenched valley
Light with the scent of clover and lilacs
Where the butterflies dance.
Leaping and swooping, they reflect colors
Of every hue and dimension.
There are monarchs and skippers,
Swallowtails and delicate spring azures.
Each dances its unique pattern
Of flits, circles, and dives,
Stretching its fragile wings toward the clouds
Or brushing its feet on the succulent grass.
There are no roads, paths, or gates
To broach the valley’s entrance,
Yet it is visited often in thoughts and
Every parent who has sent forth a child
And vainly waited for its return
Comes seeking in the valley of the butterflies,
And there finds a beautiful spirit,
Stretching its wings to the clouds and
brushing its feet on the grass,
Dancing in swoops, flits, and dives,
Drying its dewy wings in the warm sunshine of
Marcia F. Alig
TCF Mercer Area Chapter
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