A Caterpillar

Sitting at an oaken table
Inside a copse of trees
Watching little dandelions
Blowing in the breeze
Hearing the poet so eloquent
Reciting words so true
Gazing upward to cloudy cover
Hiding sky so blue
A tiny caterpillar was crawling
'Cross the table top
So I began to watch him
Wond'ring where he'd stop
Thinking of the metaphor
Of what the worm becomes
After the meaningless life
Of eating abandoned crumbs
The repulsive little creature
That makes little girls cry
The caterpillar, that is,
Becomes a butterfly