Iris Flowers

My mother let me go with her,
(I had been good all day),
To see the iris flowers that bloom
In gardens far away.

We walked and walked through hedges green,
Through rice-fields empty still,
To where we saw a garden gate
Beneath the farthest hill.

She pointed out the rows of “flowers”;—
I saw no planted things,
But white and purple butterflies
Tied down with silken strings.

They strained and fluttered in the breeze,
So eager to be free;
I begged the man to let them go,
But mother laughed at me.

She said that they could never rise,
Like birds, to heaven so blue.
But even mothers do not know
Some things that children do.

That night, the flowers untied themselves
And softly stole away,
To fly in sunshine round my dreams
Until the break of day.

Mary McNeil Fenollosa