A Queer Butterfly

I caught a lovely butterfly,
In Marianna’s net.
It was the sweetest blue and gold,
The prettiest I’d seen yet.

But Marianna came and said
The butterfly should be
Not mine, but hers, because the net
Belonged to her, not me.

We quarrelled hard, and didn’t stop,
Until my frock was torn,
And then she pointed down to where
The net lay, on the lawn.

The butterfly was creeping out
And spread its wings of blue,
And then stood up, just fancy that!
You’d hardly think it true!

We saw then what it really was,
A fairy, come to play,
And all because we quarrelled so,
She fluttered right away.