At a fair, that I had been to,
Bathing in the sun there sat a
Caterpillar that must have fallen
Down from a leaf, it was
Eating the same leaf as if a
Feast could not make it sleep.
Gnawing with no teeth at stones
Hungry still from the last minute meal.
In the eyes that were as blue as sea, still
Jarring open into a butterfly.
Kindling a fire in its heart
Loafing in its own desolate ring,
Munching at a leaf it caught from
Nowhere, not where it knew, may be from
Other side of the moon. At the
Parking lot there came a boy, a very
Quiet part of his life, laid down to
Raise that caterpillar from the
Stone on which it had stood, for all
Time it ever knew, in rain with no
Umbrella, because of one thing that it
Verily knew, that what may happen, it
Would never be a butterfly.
eXactly when it could not tell
Yachting in the sun it felt
Zero chance it ever had, to not be a butterfly.
--Mohan
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