ANSWER TO THE RIDDLE OF THE CHILD.

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And what of creatures gifted with flight?
Do they know the freedom?
Of reckless abandon delight?
The eagles the hawk all birds of prey.
To them a drudgery all their days?
The owl the bat. Ungrounded wanderers at night.
Do they take wing with excitement or blight?
Buzzing, stinging bugs to them I implore.
Love what you have, enjoy times you have to soar.
As they pass over head, my words all ignore.
None understand this crawling on earth.
Not one thanks for this gift nor talleys its worth...
There is one you say. Knowing the taste of dust?
Tell me now tell me you must.
For this I've thought hard, my knowledge I trust...
It crawled on the dirt?
It was scared for its life?
Looking up in fear it's existence strife?
Lowest on the chain, each of its days
Sorrow and pain remained.
Till in disgust spirit broken, into solitude,
safety now its only token.
How long? I wonder. Tell me I ask.
"Till God has completed His transforming task"
Transforming? Why?
To this you reply. This creature had longing.
This lowest form was in need.
With no defense it fed hungers greed.
The thing desired something. No matter what it tried.
Watching helpless, so many like it died...
Don't stop there tell me some more.
Is this a creature of fable or forgotten lore?
What does God have for this creature in store?
A laugh a chuckle escape from within you.
My anger arises, Is any of this true?
Oh yes, and you will soon surmise.
That this one of I speak who caught Gods eyes.
Is none other then that wonderful, flighty,
so easy to spy the beautiful, colorful... BUTTERFLY. I HATE RIDDLES!!!!!

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