"What the caterpillar calls the end of the world the master calls a butterfly." - Richard Bach
She was wrapped, trapped in her duvet..
For days she did not rise,
surprise with sighs and lies.
In her mind she was a butterfly.
She just lay in her duvet,
day after day.
But while she was dream weaving;
she was scheming about leaving.
Her metamorphosis was due,
and no one had a clue.
She just lay, day after day
When they broke down the door,
there was no trace of her
any more.
She had taken flight,
sometime in the night.
All that remained
torn and stained,
was her old duvet
brown,
ripped,
and quite crisp
like a
cocoon.
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