butterfly9

The butterfly remained a bachelor. Many violent and transient showers came late in the autumn; the wind blew so coldly down the back of the old willow trees, that it cracked within them. It did not do to fly about in summer garments, for even love itself would then grow cold. The butterfly however preferred not to fly out at all; he had by chance entered a doorway, and there was fire in the stove - yes, it was just as warm there, as in summertime - there he could live. “Life is not enough,“ said he, “one must have sunshine, liberty and a little flower!“