Just off a highway, a many ringed oak tree, Guarding forever his corner of meadow, Saw one hot June day a dusty old pedlar Footsore and weary look round him for shadow…
“Come my weary friend and lay your pack upon the ground And I will keep you safe if you should care to rest your head.
Come my weary friend and lay your troubles all around And listen to the music in the leaves above your bed”.
Gladly the old man Lay down by the oak tree Muttered his thanks and fell soundly asleep…
The old pedlar Slept on for many an hour Resting his head on his hand by and by: He dreamed a dream that he'd left his old body And had become a fine gold butterfly…
The golden butterfly went flitting flower after flower And dreamed he was an old man fast asleep for many an hour…
The golden butterfly went flitting flower after flower And dreamed he was an old man fast asleep for many an hour.
The old pedlar slept on beneath the great oak tree Dreaming his butterfly dream where he flew free…
The golden butterfly went flitting flower after flower And dreamed he was an old man fast asleep for many an hour…
The golden butterflies go fitting ever to explore But dream that they are old men who can sleep for evermore.