Just off a highway, a many ringed oak tree,
guarding forever his corner of meadow,
saw one hot june day a dusty old peddler
footsore and weary look round him
for shadow...
"Come my weary friend and lay your pack upon the ground
and I will keep you safe if you should care to rest your head.
Come my weary friend and lay your troubles all around
and listen to the music in the leaves above your bed."
Gladly the old man
lay down by the oak tree
muttered his thanks and fell soundly asleep . . .
The old peddler
slept on for many an hour
resting his head on his hand by and by:
he dreamed a dream that he'd left his old body
and had become a fine gold butterfly . . .
The golden butterfly went flitting
flower after flower
and dreamed he was an old man
fast asleep for many an hour . . .
The golden butterfly went flitting
flower after flower
and dreamed he was an old man
sound asleep for many an hour...
The old peddler slept on beneath
the great oak tree
dreaming his butterfly dream
where he new free . . .
The golden butterfly went flitting
flower after flower
and dreamed he was an old man
who could sleep for many an hour.
The golden butterflies go flitting
ever to explore
but dream that they are old men
who can sleep for evermore.