Does a caterpillar want to be a butterfly?
Or just do what caterpillars do?
Does it dream of beauty in the cocoon; remember the sky of blue?
When it emerges as a butterfly, its form forever changed,
Does it remember it was a caterpillar?
Does it find its winged body strange?
Fluttering from bloom to bloom, doing what butterflies do,
Does it think about tomorrow?
Or what’s next when life is through?
I’d like to think from flower to flower and from tree to tree
The only care it ever has
Is simply to just be.