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There was once a caterpillar who stood there,
at the edge of the old hickory’s branch.
He looked on with green-tinted glares
at the world and those colorful creatures that dash.
.
“How unfair is life?”, he sadly mused,
gaping at his peers as they flutter by,
“If only I have a pair of those palettes to use,
I will surely reign upon that blue-bonnet sky”.
.
As his friends harness the gentle zephyr wind,
he decided to do something: to try his utmost best,
for the little caterpillar has only one song to sing
and until he succeeds, he will never rest.
.
So he plucked two of the broadest leaves from the old hickory
and he fashioned a pair of makeshift wings out of them.
Then he stood once more at the fingertips of the aging tree,
ready to lift-off and join those flying gems.
.
When he leapt he flapped his wings of leaves furiously–
defying gravity with all the strength he could muster.
But the kindly breeze denied his precious pleas
and soon after, he’s lying on a meadow of heather.
.
“How unfair is life?”, he asked once more,
“they’re lovely with their grown-up tokens,
and here I am: beaten and sore–
for exerting everything, now I’m broken”.
.
All of a sudden, something happened:
like a stone, he became still and steady.
The broken dreamer upon the soft flower bed
is now wearing an armor of red beauty!
.
Now the poor caterpillar’s dangling in silence–
he’s blind: everything became dark and damp.
He turned scarlet, hard, mute and dense,
but it still feels like dreaming on a day’s nap.
.
The little caterpillar doesn’t know what’s going on.
“How come I cannot possess a charm like theirs?
Ah! What a curse for wishing for some petals to don”.
He queried life, but is quite certain fear’s not there.
.
“I guess I’m going to sleep for now,” to himself, he said–
red and all–fearless–on that pink heather bed,
“and as long I don’t hear the knell of pending death,
I’ll soon blossom and fly, ravishing, until my very last breath”.
Poet's Corner 