Explore "The Caterpillar" by Robert Graves on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
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.