Joel Lyons jrlyons at
Tue Jun 12 22:39:36 EDT 2001

"I happened one night in my travels
     To stray into Butterfly Vale,
Where my wondering eyes beheld butterflies
     With wings that were wide as a sail.
They lived in such houses of grandeur,
     Their days were successions of joys,
And the very last fad these butterflies had
   Was making collections of boys.

"There were boys of all sizes and ages
   Pinned  up on their walls.  When I said
'Twas a terrible sight to see boys in that plight,
   I was answered:  "Oh, well they are dead.
We catch them alive, but we kill them
   With ether - a very nice way:
Just look at this fellow - his hair is so yellow,
   And his eyes such a beautiful gray.

"Then there is a droll little darky,
   As black as the clay at our feet;
He sets off that blond that is pinned just beyond
   In a way most artistic and neat.
And now let me show you the latest,-
   A specimen really select,
A boy with a head that is carroty-red
   And a face that is funnily specked.

"'We cannot decide where to place him;
   Those spots bar him out of each class;
We think him a treasure to study at leisure
   And analyze under a glass.'

I seemed to grow cold as I listened
   To the words these butterflies spoke;
With fear overcome, I was speechless and dumb
   And then with a start - I awoke"

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