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The day is over and still so heavy on the mind |
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In flew glowing, smiling mother, butterfly in yellow |
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To join the frowning cactus crowd |
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Finding flowers even there to flutter round |
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I thought, isn't mother grand? The way she flies and flies |
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Into the sting of the cold and the prick of the barbed wire |
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Isn't mother grand to gladly fly and swiftly fly |
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Into the sting of the cold and the prick of the barbed wire |
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The day is over and still goes passing through the mind: |
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In came glowing, smiling mother, sure and kind |
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To rouse us, to give ourselves out and to cry |
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Birth to warm intentions, worthless otherwise |
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Oh, the lives that brush against us, pass us by and by |
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The friends who may or may not come if we would first invite |
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Oh, to open doors, to always gladly fly and fly |
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Into the sting of the cold and the prick of the barded wire |
