No Nets Below

No nets below

by john clare

When butterflies are never told
They were meant to soar high
Above the flowery meadows below
They rebel and run from home
To join the circus where
They spend their days
Learning to walk upon the silken
Tight ropes high above the
Ant hills below.

The ants look up high from their
Mounds below and call to
The butterflies high above
Be careful up there!
No nets are below!
And if you slip, to our
Children you will go.

And so the poor butterflies
Take the slip and fall far below
And soon the ants cover them
And take them further below.
If only they were told
They were meant to soar high
Above the flowery meadows below.