METAMORPHOSIS

We’ve plodded through a weird and weary time,
  Called Winter by the calendar alone;
We have beheld an earth pool-deep in slime,
  Image a heaven of stone.

We’ve found life hid between the folds of mire,
  Sensed life in every place, heard life in tune.
The earth-shell cracks with underneath desire;
  Spring crawls from the cocoon.

Her puny wings vibrant with will to grow,
  She clings, expanding like an opening eye;
More large, more able, more developed, lo,
  The perfect butterfly.