Most die as caterpillars, their stiff long carcass left hanging somewhere precariously, a ridge they attempted to climb that proved too much in the end for them to struggle through – incarnate no longer

Most die as caterpillars, a shadow of their possibility, many legged creature that could not find a way, even with so many legs, to overcome the most brutal of obstacles, the self from which they run, walk, and crawl

Most die as caterpillars, round, crusted, unyielding to those around them, determined instead to bowl ahead with their own agenda, lost to the possibilities not only around them, but inside them, for the greatest mystery of all was still inside them when they died

Most die as caterpillars, the undiscovered country of themselves left behind, and having lived a life whereby the greatest annoyance were the unusual creatures that occasionally fluttered by, golden wings and unstoppable spirit that soared to heights that even so many legs could not reach