Her bat-like stealth explores the evening skies.

Hidden high among branches of leafy twigs,

She glues securely to a tree her silver eggs

To protect them from the elements of nature,

Which would harm  them while their life remains immature.

Hatching in warm sunlight these will give new birth

To wingless life, which cannot fly but crawls the earth.

Mere worms, likened to men, these take their feed,

Devouring every leaf, so like men’s greed.

They spin upon the tree, from silken cloths,

Large paper-like cocoons, these larval moths.

This form awaits a change much greater than,

Any transformation known to man.

Then, from a death-like sleep, which nature brings,

Emerges life anew on powdered wings.

If man could see his fate is likewise lying

With such as this, he’d have less fear of dying.