That's how I was. Somebody found my chrysalis And shut it in a match-box. I've seen people put My shrivelled wings were beaten, A chrysalis in a match-box, Shed their colours in dusty scales To see, they told me, "what sort of moth would come." Before the box was opened But when it broke its shell For the moth to fly. It slipped and stumbled and fell about its prison And tried to climb to the light For space to dry its wings. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A POST-IMPRESSIONIST SUSURRATION FOR THE FIRST OF NOVEMBER by HAYDEN CARRUTH AFTER THE PAPAGO by JAMES GALVIN BENEDICTION by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON YOUR WORLD by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON BEAUTY THAT IS NEVER OLD by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON FACADE: 24. AN OLD WOMAN LAMENTS IN SPRINGTIME by EDITH SITWELL |