A butterfly spirit crawled out of its case And flew towards the lights of infinite space. With prayer mortals planted its shell. What then? Did they once suppose—those primitive men— Another life, wing-borne, prolific, and gay Would grow from its purple case out-worn and gray Is it not enough that the one spirit, free, Gave life unto others and its gayety, And hopeful new views as it searched for light In sweetest of ways? Why the burial rite? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...STORIES ARE MADE OF MISTAKES by JAMES GALVIN FRAGMENT by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE by EMMA LAZARUS SURFACES AND MASKS; 7 by CLARENCE MAJOR NEBUCHADNEZZAR: OR EATING GRASS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |