Metamorphosis... A New Beginning (a poem of inspiration)
A mother butterfly lays its tiny eggs...
Upon a chosen branch, or a simple vine,
Does so adhere, this oval, very dear...
There to molt, in its own special time.
A mother births her baby, so sweet,
And comes by its head, so complete,
As by its mother's side, there it does reside...
So small, and plump...so very petite.
As time moves on, then a fond cacoon forms,
Does pass and grow to its larva stage,
Wrapped in fine silk, as in its envelope,
Its growth, now begun, so turns the page.
The newborn child rests, tender and mild,
Trustingly, clutches its mother's breast,
Held so secure, is safe, and demure,
Its comfort, found there, is well blessed.
Now is time, a larva to form, it, a caterpillar,
While it grazes upon fresh leaves of greens,
This worm-like creature, to grow and to thrive,
Is nourished there, by all available means.
The human child, quickly grows, all the while,
Now is the time for it to begin to talk,
Once received, its mother's finest milk,
Now eats food...as soon, it begins to walk.
The caterpillar now does change, transcend.
To form a pupa... its new growth, divine,
Attaches itself to limbs, once again, as in its chrysalis,
To then develop, until it's unfolding time.
Within the Pupa, great changes take place,
Arms and legs form, now begin to grow,
A head and eyes, wings of a radiance then,
These are all ready, now to show.
The infant has grown so fast, as months have passed,
its arms and legs enlarge, are longer,
It talks very well, is no longer so frail, has developed,
And now is so big and much stronger.
Its senses of hearing and vision, are acute,
Repeats mom and dad, in fine speech,
Now it has learned its basic needs, has progressed,
These traits, good parents, are all to teach.
A beautiful winged creature, a butterfly,
Now so graces the bright days of Spring,
Its metamorphosis, so marvelous, so grand,
To all, great joy in its sighting, to bring.
A wonderful child, so precious and mild,
Given life by its mother, in loving grace,
In this life of change, that our creator does arrange,
As a reflection of his own shining face.
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