A lonely butterfly lost its way
it was wandering in the desert
with no sight of flowers
no view of shrubs or trees.
It met a high mountain
blocking the vision
part of its heart said
quit fighting give up.
Something inside it said
lets try and see what comes
it flew high, high and higher
and it reached the other side.
Its tiny wings danced with joy
when it was welcomed by a
valley full of flowers and
thousands of tiny, little butterflies.
Gentle Mary Laid her Child
Lowly in a manger;
There He lay, the undefiled,
To the world a stranger.
Such a Babe in such a place.
Can he be the saviour?
Ask the saved of all the race
Who have found His favour.
Angels sang about His birth,
Wise men sought and found Him;
Heaven’s star shone brightly forth
Glory all around Him.
Shepherds saw the wondrous sight,
Heard the angels singing;
All the plains were lit that night,
All the hills were ringing.
Gentle Mary laid her Child
Lowly in a manger;
He is still the undefiled,
But no more a stranger.
Son of God of humble birth,
Beautiful the story;
Praise His Name in all the earth,
Hail! The King of Glory!
A poem for my intent angels:
A lonely butterfly lost its way
it was wandering in the desert
with no sight of flowers
no view of shrubs or trees.
It met a high mountain
blocking the vision
part of its heart said
quit fighting give up.
Something inside it said
lets try and see what comes
it flew high, high and higher
and it reached the other side.
Its tiny wings danced with joy
when it was welcomed by a
valley full of flowers and
thousands of tiny, little butterflies.
