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The Butterfly had a story
Had to tiller
About when it was a catterpillar
green, low selfesteem
obese depressed, going from leaf to leaf
bush to bush, tree to tree
witnessing the tradgedy of others
smushed to mush, slow never in a rush
even though there were more than a few
brushes with death, everyone loved were gone
nothing left but giving up, crept upon a stone
giving into fate, hoping to die and never wake
smothering and struggling inside of a cacoon
it struggled to be free and fly and it did and so did I
