A caterpillar once crept on the leaves
Watching its older family, all butterflies
White wings was all he could see
Drained of their hue
The caterpillar told itself, “that won’t be me too.”
It wanted to be different
It wanted to be better
It wanted to have color
It wanted hue
It planned a different life for itself as it weaved its cocoon
Then spring came and it burst from its confinement
Eager to see its hue
What would it be?
Maybe a grandiose green
Maybe a powerful pink
Maybe a radiant red
Maybe a beautiful blue
It flapped its wings to see the color
It was hueless just like the others
Its pale white wings were destined to flutter
The caterpillar would hate what it became
The caterpillar would despise itself all the same
Unattractive pale wings whiter than snow
Pale. White. Wings
No life, no hue
The butterfly saw two avenues
One, fly away
Let its wings be painted by the colors of the world
It hoped that would be the case
Two, stay
Let its wings be a reminder, there was no escaping this fate when it came into the world
It hoped that it’d have the courage to fly away
A butterfly now creeps on the leaves
Unsure if it’ll leave
We’ll see its decision by spring
