GARDEN MORPHS
Not a butterfly in sight,
Light touch of kisses, morning brings,
Are clouds, from orange to gold tinged;
Then silver laced these clouds settle,
And merge over silence of
Caterpillars, chomping green leaves
Of Plumeria.
Their striped pyjamas a signal to
Impending dreams, how they loop and crawl,
As a feast they eat, to new life;
Then, one day, when all the leaves are gone,
So are they;
But, at the same time, tiny fingers of bananas,
Peep through covers of infloresence,
There to grow, day by day, into a bunch.
GARDEN MORPHS © gillena cox 2017
Looking Beyond The Obvious
