Carol gazed down at the city below,
Full of castles and houses and trees.
Smoke rose from the chimneys into the air,
Leaving ashes and soot in the breeze.
People coughed and they choked as they walked down the street;
The air was so dirty and black.
Carol ran up a hill far away from the much
And didn’t really want to go back.
“The air is much fresher, I like it up here.”
Carol sat on a patch of velvet green,
Where birds sang and chirped and flowers bloomed.
“This is the prettiest place that I’ve seen.”
A butterfly fluttered its wings and flew by,
Landing on Carol’s finger, she smiled.
“You are so lovely and yellow and red.
I’ve not seen any colors for a while.”
The snowdrops were white, the bluebells were blue,
The pansies and tulips were bright.
The poppies were red and the clover was pink;
And the irises were purple, just right.
It wasn’t too long before Carol’s mother called;
She needed to go home and help cook.
“I have to go now, but next time I come
I think I will bring my new book.”
That night as she stood at her bedroom window
And looked at the stars in the sky,
She thought of the day at the top of the hill
And the time spent with the butterfly.