Beauty.

The wings of a butterfly appearing for the first time,

Is the opposite of the by a caterpillar produced slime.

Yet one is called ugly and the other beautiful,

Even though they're part of the same life circle.

One has to happen for the other to appear,

The reasons sometimes unclear.

But that doesn't make the statement any less true,

Just like you always knew.

Ugly and beauty go hand in hand,

Love and hate are on the same band.

Hurt and comfort are close,

Hope and fear can be seen trough the same windows.

A butterfly's path isn't made by its past life,

But by the power of its strife.

Her wings might not fulfill their flight duty,

But they never ever lose anything of their beauty.

A/N: This is the poem I made for my amazing mother on mother's day.