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Silk
I know how they make silk/ I say to
The other children/ I am pointing to
A large maroon chrysalis wedged on
The fence/ I interrupt their silence
They will boil the sleeping lady/
Inside her cocoon/ her sacred rest
Becomes her death/ she folds in on herself/
The black heat kills/ before she takes
Her flight/ into light/ her beautiful
Fibres are spun into silk/ I see her
Through her veil/ her veil of death/
I know how they make silk |