• Vol. 09
  • Chapter 04
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Once Upon a Time

How often we envy the butterflies, spirits of
the air, flashing their stained glass wings
while migrating on a breeze we barely feel
as it grazes our skin, sifts strands of our hair.

How often we wish we could spin a chrysalis,
take refuge in cocooned protection during the
bad days that surely come, wrapping our sorrows
in silk until we emerge bearing light.

I will lift up mine eyes, the psalmist begins
his praise-song, and we do, letting the heavens
fill them as I did once upon a time, cradled
in a baby-carriage, rolling along in a cocoon

until my mother stopped by the garden, and
we were charmed by butterflies, even the
little cabbage whites, all good fairies at my
cradle, now and then visiting to bless me still