Morph

The little caterpillar, in a cocoon,

Shall morph into a butterfly soon.

Yet, we acknowledge the

Beautiful adult,

And discard the less alluring larva,

Though beauty is the result,

Of metamorphosis of the same being.

He enters an apparent diapause,

Inside the cocoon's walls,

Silent, profound changes occur,

Which are way out of our clue,

Finally possessing an identity new,

For he too knows,

That to maneuver his cycle of existence,

He must mould with perseverance.