Robert Graves

(1895 - 1985 / London / England)

The Caterpillar - Poem by Robert Graves

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.


Comments about The Caterpillar by Robert Graves

  • (1/24/2018 5:36:00 AM)


    banta sidfhasdai; fidadshfurihsdfahi; fdihfdhiweihiefw][o34204WTEO[IHREA[FAOUHWDFO[UFAS[OIIYHFSEDOIHUSFDAOIHUFEWDOIHUF (Report) Reply

    0 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
Read all 1 comments »



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Read poems about / on: green, sleep, dream



Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003



[Report Error]