Intro: The day is over, and still so heavy on the mind In flew glowing, smiling mother, butterfly In yellow, to join the frowning cactus crowd. Finding flowers - even there - to flutter round. I thought, isn't mother grand? The way she flies and flies Into the sting of the cold And the prick of the barbed wire. Isn't mother grand To gladly fly and swiftly fly Into the sting of the cold And the prick of the barbed wire. The day is over, and still goes passing through the mind: In came glowing, smiling mother, sure and kind. To rouse us, to give ourselves out and to cry. Birth to warm intentions, worthless otherwise! Oh, the lives that brush against us, Pass us by and by, the friends who may or may not come If we would first invite. Oh to open doors, to always gladly fly and fly Into the sting of the cold And the prick of the barded wire