Caterpillars crawl,
then weave a cocoon,
metamorphasize,
to live but for a day.
How can people fly
unless they first crawl?
Some wither cocooned--don’t
metamorphasize--
and fail to spread wings.
Let soar,
float on the breeze,
wing it to heaven . . .
arise from bent knees.

Legs sprawled, rushing ‘round,
barely off the ground--
metamorphasized.
I learned humility
sliding on my belly--
all to easy to crush.
I shed my coat for wings;
traisped over the world,
if only for a day.
Colors merge
on rapid wings
flying to heaven.
I rose
metamorphasized
on bent knees.