The Boastful Butterfly

Upon the temple dome
Of Solomon the wise
There paused, returning home,
A pair of butterflies.

He did the quite blasé
(Did it rather badly),
Wherefore—need I say?—
She adored him madly.

Enthusiasm she
Did not attempt to curb:
“Goodness gracious me!
Is n’t this superb!”

He vouchsafed a smile
To indulge her whimsy,
Surveyed the lofty pile,
And drawled, “Not bad—but flimsy!

“Appearances, though fine,
Lead to false deduction;
This temple, I opine,
Is shaky in construction.

“Think of it, my dear.
All this glittering show
Would crumble—disappear—
Should I but stamp my toe!

“If I should stamp—like this—”
His wife cried, “Heavens! don’t!”
He answered, with a kiss,
“Very well; I won’t.”

Now, every blessed word
Said by these butterflies,
It chanced, was overheard
By Solomon the wise.

He called in angry tone,
And bade a Djinn to hie
And summon to his throne
That boastful butterfly.

The butterfly flew down
Upon reluctant wing.
Cried Solomon, with a frown,
“How dared you say this thing?

“How dared you, fly, invent
Such blasphemy as this is?”
“Oh, king, I only meant
To terrify the missis.”

The insect was so scared
The king could scarce restrain
A smile. “Begone! you’re spared;
But don’t do it again!”

So spake King Solomon.
The butterflew away.
His wife to meet him ran:
“Oh, dear, what did he say?”

The butterfly had here
A chance to shine, and knew it.
Said he: “The king, my dear,
Implored me not to do it!”