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The fifth stanza of this was written
December, 1996, the week my mom died.
The rest finally emerged Mother's Day,
2002.

My Mama often told me,
"People are like caterpillars,"
when I was a little girl--
how across the earth
we crawl and creep,
yet one day wings each will unfurl.

"But why is life so hard?" I'd cry.
"It simply is not fair;
unknown besets each new horizon,
and at night there are dragons
everywhere!"

"Fear not your dragons," Mom assured,
"for dark is our silk cocoon
where God makes way for transformation
and dreams . . . to be tested soon."

And then this song she'd sing to me
until I would sing along;
too young was I to comprehend
her gift of love within the song:

Now in my life I have been blessed
by many a miraculous thing,
but there's no finer miracle
than when a butterfly finds her wings!

Mama died at dawn today,
and in my darkness as I cried
I recalled her fuzzy caterpillar,
who always knew somehow she'd fly
up, up and away
above the flowered fields;
Up, up and away . . .
My mama's spirit feels free!