I wish I had written this, but I read it in a book, details following. Enjoy.

The Cricket

A poor little cricket
Hidden in the flowery grass,
Observes a butterfly
Fluttering in the meadow. The winged insect shines with the liveliest colors:
Azure, purple, and gold glitter on his wings;
Young, handsome, foppish, he hastens from flower to flower,
Taking from the best ones.
Ah! says the cricket, how his lot and mine
Are dissimilar! Lady Nature
For him did everything, and for me nothing.
I have no talent, even less beauty;
No one takes notice of me, they know me not here below;
Might as well not exist.
As he was speaking, in the meadow
Arrives a troop of children.
Immediately they are running
After this butterfly, for which they all have a longing.
Hats, handkerchiefs, caps serve to catch him.
The insect in vain tries to escape. He becomes soon their conquest.
One seizes him by the wing, another by the body;
A third arrives, and takes him by the head.
It should not be so much effort
To tear to pieces the poor creature.
Oh! Oh! says the cricket, I am no more sorry;
It costs too dear to shine in this world.
How much I am going to love my deep retreat!
To live happily, live hidden.

Jean-Pierre Claris de Florian

Dedman, Bill; Newell, Paul Clark. Empty Mansions: The Mysterious Life of Huguette Clark and the Spending of a Great American Fortune (pp. 358-360). Random House Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.