metamorphosis

"The end is in the beginning.” (T.S. Eliot)    
    
some place to rest my legs        
where i can spawn my pregnant eggs        
an underleaf will do        
where burning sun cannot pierce through        
        
my ovum flush        
is marvelous        
my motherhood is prime              
sleep, little ones        
i’ve got to run        
my wings are bound by time        
       
five sleeping days is all        
that we can spare before the call        
for larvae cannot be        
confined without catastrophe        
       
then gluttony        
for botany        
defines our sole intent        
eat rush unleashed        
a festal feast        
till fourteen days is spent        
       
ethnic fatigue soon swoons        
our souls dead still for half a moon        
pupated shells the graves        
in which we dwell like muted slaves        
       
then one bright morn        
our souls are born        
lithe angels on the wing        
for thirty days        
romantic ways        
and then new eggs to bring        
       
some place to rest my legs        
where i can spawn my pregnant eggs        
an underleaf will do        
where burning sun cannot pierce through…        
       
© Copyright 2019 February 18        
by Clyve A. Bowen♫