T'was really not a Monarch, that graced our flower bed,
Even though my pictures sent, in e-mail lables said.
But still a tale to remember hence, my grandson caught them each,
And kept them safe as they transformed, and wriggled from the breach.
To dry their wings, in summer sun, they flap then flutter by,
Not a majestic Monarch, true, but no less a Butter Fly.
OK, Now we got something going. You list yourself as a Manufacturer. Lets get with it, Boy. You are fundamentally a Philosopher. Quit living in the Real World and get into Fantasy where you belong. And by the way, How come something that Flutters By is called a Butter Fly?? And for that matter, how come a Fly Flies, but Flies Fly??
ReplyDeleteHey, what is the problem?? let's get this thing going again and arouse the talents of an incredible family.
ReplyDeleteGeeze, I guess I am wasting my breath here.
ReplyDelete