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There's a story told of a little Japanese. |
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Sitting demurely 'neath the cherry blossom trees. |
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Miss Butterfly's her name. |
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A sweet little innocent child was she |
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'Till a fine young American from the sea |
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To her garden came. |
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They met 'neath the cherry blossoms everyday. |
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And he taught her how to love the American way. |
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To love with her soul t'was easy to learn. |
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Then he sailed away with a promise to return. |
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Poor butterfly |
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'Neath the blossoms waiting. |
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Poor Butterfly |
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For she loved him so. |
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The moments pass into hours. |
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The hours pass into years. |
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And as she smiles through her tears, |
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She murmurs low: |
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The moon and I know that he'll be faithful |
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I'm sure he'll come to me by and by. |
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But if he won't come back then I'll never sigh or cry, |
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I just must die. |
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Poor butterfly. |
