One day while I was off at war,
Eating my lunch under a tree,
A butterfly landed on my knee,
And seemed to say,”I’m free! I’m free!”
Now isn’t that a quirk of fate,
For an insect as fine as he,
To know that he is forever free,
Much more free than me, than me.
But one fine day his end will come!
That day will not come to me!
At least until I’ve been through this war,
And home again, free! Home again, free!
-Leigh Livermore, RVN 1970