The Cocoon In The Meadow Poem by Leon Moon

Drafts of marigold, specs of rust
Nestle amongst the meadow,
Short breaths of wind
Part the slender grass, chronic with life;
And the sun, a weeping widow, gleams
Bestowing on Earth her beauty
Upon the meadow- and the cocoon
Which is adrift, dances along tips of blades
- Until slit
And opened

A bouquet of mid-summer scents,
acrid to the infant
Awakes a young woman from her rest;
Glazed by oak upon her crest,
She rises, as if a bleeding Sun
And treads, alone, from her nest

Heavy whispers glaze her silk dress
Sieving green infinities
As she spins, lacing glee
This was all hers!
Golden rye will make her rich!
The cocoon was no more,
She was free;

Jumping off a blade of grass
Thirsty mud was met
With a harsh thud,
Pain seized her body;
Her foot wept tears
She had landed on a shard of glass!
Curious of what was south
She saw herself,
Flickered in blood;

And stared
For eternity…