Butterfly,
sweet butterfly,
let the wind
carry your wings.
Across the plains
and over the trees,
it is love that you bring.
Back to the Bluffs,
back to your home,
back to the days of old.
Let the dance in your wings
carry the memories you sing,
back to your most precious home.
Climbing the stairs slowly
the mother and child paused.
They were taking in everything,
one hundred and thirty-three years
of everything.
As they opened the door and entered
a small group had gathered in the lobby.
Soon the tour would begin.
An oil portrait of Ruth Anne Dodge,
General Dodge’s loving wife,
greeted all visitors at the door's entrance.
Young eyes of innocence were drawn
to the beautiful wooden stairway,
where by chance a butterfly did rest.
A butterfly of exquisite beauty that
had now caught a little boy's attention.
The tour continued up the stairs
the boy's eyes followed the butterfly,
to a ballroom filled with not one piano,
but two. Where the bygone days
of music boxes, and dancing, and laughter
could still be heard if only
one closed their eyes.
It was day of cool summer breezes,
butterflies and wide-eyed boys.
A day when the loveliest of butterflies
found her way home, once again.
She lighted upon the old wooden banister
as one memory after another
fondly came back to her.
As the butterfly fluttered her wings
and glided past the portrait
the young boy raised his arm
and pointed towards her.
"Her name was Ruth," his mother softly said,
admiring the large portrait.
"She once lived here, a long time ago".
The butterfly moved on.
Dancing in flight she moved her way
back towards the stairway.
She floated her way
lightly towards the ballroom.
To the room once filled
with music, and laughter, and love.
Let the dance in your wings
carry the memories you sing,
back to your most precious home.