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Chasing butterflies we often do,
Running quickly through the morning dew.
We holler, shout, and scream out loud.
And gather, laughing, in our crowd.
The ground and warm grass at our feet,
Tall trees and flowers, o so sweet.
Who knew the butterflies would then fly away,
And the night would soon consume the day?
How did our laughter turn to sighs,
And that we'd say fewer "Hello's" than "Goodbye's"?
The ground doesn't seem so big anymore,
And we don't know what we're chasing for.