My mama often told me,
"People are like caterpillars.",
when I was a little girl--
how across this 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 trransformation
and dreams to be tested soon."

And then this verse she'd sing to me
until I'd 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
then when a butterly finds her wings."

Mama died at dawn today,
and in my shadows as I cried
it called to mind her fuzzy caterpillar,
who always knew somehow she'd fly
up, up and away
above the flowered fields--
up, up and away. . .
My mother's spirit feels free!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The fifth stanza of this poem was written in Dec '96
the week my mom died--the rest finally emerged
the week before Mother's Day this year.