There's a story of a little Japanese
sitting demurely 'neath the cherry blossom trees.
Miss Butterfly her name.
A sweet little innocent child was she,
Till a fine young American from the sea.
To her garden came.
They met 'neath the cherry blossoms ev'ry day
and he taught her how to love in the 'Merican way,
To love with her soul! 'twas easy to learn;
Then he sailed away with a promise to return.

Poor Butterfly!
'neath the blossoms waiting
Poor Buttefly!
For she loved him so.
The moment pass into hours
The hours pass into years
And as she smiles through her tears,
She murmurs low,
The moon and I know that he be faithful,
I'm sure he come to me bye and bye.
But if he don't come back
Then I never sigh or cry
I must die.
Poor Butterfly.

"Won't you tell my love" she would whisper to the breeze
Tell him I'm waiting 'neath the cherry blossom trees.
My Sailor man to see.
The bees and the humming birds say they guess,
Ev'ry day that passes makes one day less.
'Till you come to me.
For once Butterfly she gives her heart away,
She can never love again she is his for aye.
Through all of this world, For ages to come,
So her face just smiles, tho' her heart is growing numb.