Wednesday, June 28, 2006


Don't we all long to fly while we crawl over broken glass?


Green one, your long-lunched feeding days are over;
In this, known form, there's nowhere left to grow.
Things stir within, undreamt of fears possess you;
Dearly you would remain with what you know.

But, law unalterable, that bids the lush leaves
Change to strange hues and drop from their safe tree;
That bids the moon transmute to hidden rhythms,
And binds the lives of all the things which be,

Calls you to destiny, till now a rumour
Of alien glory you can't comprehend.
The days of youthful ignorance are fleeting.
The only life you know comes to an end.

What is a butterfly? It were as easy,
To talk to earthly men of heavenly things.
Your sceptics say cocoons are final darkness,
How dare a caterpillar dream of wings?


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