Metamorphosis

The Spring sun stretches bright

Yellow rays upon the morning.

Droplets of dew reflecting the light,

Earth and species warming.

.

Among the shrubs and the leaves,

Producers play their part in the cycle.

They work and they thrive which achieves

Life, sustenance and fresh recycle.

.

The small, round, hungry creature

Plays it’s part. The same job – day,

After day. Waiting to become a feature,

An exhibition in the world’s stage play.

.

Day in, day out. The caterpillar grows.

Grounded by design, yet reaching

The insect ever-onward goes

Not knowing what it is seeking.

.

On a day of the same, the beast

Gives up. Around itself a cocoon

Is scaffolded, hoping at least

To perish and to death commune.

.

Darkness enfolds, concealing

The shame and pain borne

By the wretch. No feeling,

No joy, nothing to mourn.

.

Crack is the sound of rebirth.

Yellow rays stretch into the space,

Baptising the creature with worth.

Out comes the butterfly with grace.

.

Fanning the wood with the most

Glorious of wings, up high

Flies the beauty, plenty to boast.

Oh, to reach the bright Spring sky!

.

.

Image: Fine Art America

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