In the middle of our porridge plate..There was a blue butterfly painted
And each morning we tried who should reach the butterfly first.
Then Grandmother said: "Do not eat the poor butterfly."
That made us laugh. Always she said it and always it started us laughing.
It seemed such a sweet little joke.
I was certain that one fine morning The butterfly would fly out of our plates,
Laughing the teeniest laugh in the world, And perch on Grandmother's lap.
To my grandmother..
[poem by Katherine Mansfield]