Menu
Friday, January 3, 2003

The Caterpillar

Rating: 3.0
Under this loop of honeysuckle,
A creeping, coloured caterpillar,
I gnaw the fresh green hawthorn spray,
I nibble it leaf by leaf away.

Down beneath grow dandelions,
Daisies, old-man’s-looking-glasses;
Rooks flap croaking across the lane.
I eat and swallow and eat again.

Here come raindrops helter-skelter;
I munch and nibble unregarding:
Hawthorn leaves are juicy and firm.
I’ll mind my business: I’m a good worm.

When I’m old, tired, melancholy,
I’ll build a leaf-green mausoleum
Close by, here on this lovely spray,
And die and dream the ages away.

Some say worms win resurrection,
With white wings beating flitter-flutter,
But wings or a sound sleep, why should I care?
Either way I’ll miss my share.

Under this loop of honeysuckle,
A hungry, hairy caterpillar,
I crawl on my high and swinging seat,
And eat, eat, eat—as one ought to eat.
Robert Graves
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
COMMENTS
janter 24 January 2018
banta sidfhasdai; fidadshfurihsdfahi; fdihfdhiweihiefw][o34204WTEO[IHREA[FAOUHWDFO[UFAS[OIIYHFSEDOIHUSFDAOIHUFEWDOIHUF
0 1 Reply

Delivering Poems Around The World

Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...

1/17/2021 12:57:29 AM # 1.0.0.396