I am but a humble butterfly.
I have not the purpose of the honey bee.
Once I was just a caterpillar crawling over wasted ground.
A change fell upon me.
I'm hanging in the corner outside
In the privy, my own private space.
Maybe I'm just dangling in the garden shed.
My shell it is impenetrable.
It keeps me safe inside.
My time is now.
My casing split.
Time to find my wings and flit.
Now as I silently flutter by.
I had a thought, in which I realised.
That we indeed are butterflies.
Metamorphosis from birth to childhood, precious and beautiful.
To age concern and death.
Our time is longer than that of the butterfly.
Development is change and change is metamorphosis.
(C) Livvi