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Ann Taylor - The Butterfly
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THE Butterfly, an idle thing,
Nor honey makes, nor yet can sing,
As do the bee and bird; 
Nor does it, like the prudent ant, 
Lay up the grain for times of want,
A wise and cautious hoard.
 
My youth is but a summer`s day: 
Then like the bee and ant I`ll lay
A store of learning by;
And though from flower to flower I rove, 
My stock of wisdom I`ll improve
Nor be a butterfly.
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