even when I'm low
the smallest things can lift my spirits up
like a brown butterfly on a step
it's delicate wings flapping,
or a child pointing to the vibuthi bucket
ardently copying the parents in all things
modelling the outward gestures of prayers so earnestly
that the blessings for the family will surely double
babies and butterflies make me smile
for in them I see God's hands, his wonder and then I cannot be sad too long
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