For so long as it never dares

To peek out from its bed,

A caterpillar need not stress

Its pretty little head.

Protected by cocooning walls

From foe as well as friend,

It has no need to fear at all

That such a state might end.

We do not like to think at all

That such a day may come

When, pounded by the thoughtless wind

And shrivelled by the sun,

The cocoon falls. But in our tale

Let’s say this is the hour:

The gathered trees are cloaked in black,

As helpless as they’re dour.

It’s sad, they say, but times will come:

The cocoon’s time is sadly done.

But doubly so, say two or three,

And adding to the tragedy,

The colours bright that might have been,

The glory this world might have seen—

For butterflies, this life is brief,

But beautiful beyond belief—

What if, what if? the forest calls,

As her protective coffin falls—

For underneath its watchful eye

The insect never learned to fly.