Next Time Round (Poetry)

Allowing this small life is just a stage —
a grub-like fantasy of summer spent
clinging to a leaf beside a lane

not knowing where it goes, or why the rain
shakes my world, accepting that I dream
of flying — a perspective far removed...

Such meditations lead me round to this —
there’s so much more to come. No end but change
as simple as the splitting of old skin

and wriggling free. The chance to start again
experience a shift in time and space
to blue-winged state. Soul’s metamorphosis.