Last summer—ten years ago—I observed
An oak tree in the center of the meadow
Beautiful, large, grand standing tall, proud
The only shade celestial Heavens endowed.
I spent all day under coolness of the tree,
Not encountering a single soul—bird nor bee nor beast.
Alone and quiet, solitary musings of grandeur (in)
Faraway lands, sunk in stone, where thoughts are free.
One day my reverie was broken, a harsh reality
Opened when I laid eyes on a cocoon
That hung precariously on a rough branch
(delicate balance of growth and serenity).

And so everyday I watched, spotted,
Chased the ghosts of the future away
Sheltered, banished the rain, hail and storm
Anything to prevent a cocoon forlorn.
My musings wandered, strayed from oceans
And took rest in that little ball of hopeful life
Dreamed of going in a child, coming out mature
Smiled at the silk-spun white, caressed sweet Nature.

Last summer—ten years ago—I pondered
What colors shalt the new life be?
Cerulean? Mahogany? Black? Beige? Indigo?
When the world is open, where will those wings go?
And finally one afternoon, the sun shone, it happened
I saw the cocoon shake, I saw a tiny thing move
But what came out was not an object of my hope
Alas! No butterfly… Same the worm remained.