My Father’s Funeral
The butterfly does not recall
the worm it used to be.
It spun its threads and went to sleep…
thought for eternity.
The dusty moth who sees a light,
and sets his course on high.
May not yet know, his love waits there,
for that he needs to fly.
And we may wonder how and why
this ‘morphosis could be.
But watch the butterfly and moth,
in them the truth you’ll see.
~
So Dad, you see, it’s your turn now,
your silk has all been spun.
We all loved you, and we’ve all heard,
of all the things you’ve done…
Yet spring will soon be close at hand,
a spark…you will awake.
You’ll move a bit and flex new jaws,
another path you’ll take.
So for a while, just lie and wait
in your chrysalis, and we’ll sigh.
But soon enough, the time will come,
you’ll spread new wings and fly.