Poor butterfly 'neath the blossoms waiting;
poor butterfly, for she loved him so.
the moments pass into hours, the hours pass into years,
and as she smiles through her tears, she murmers low,
"the moon and i know that he'll be faithful;
i'm sure he'll come back, by and by.
but if he don't come back, then i never sigh or cry--
i just must die." poor butterfly.