David McCord

(1897 - 1997 / New York / United States)


The little caterpillar creeps
Awhile before in silk it sleeps.
It sleeps awhile before it flies,
And flies awhile before it dies,
And that¹s the end of three good tries.
They came like dewdrops overnight
Eating every plant in sight,
Those nasty worms with legs that crawl

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