While winter's white sun,
washes over a white wonderland,
he tries his best to understand
why it hasn't yet begun.
For years he formed his cocoon,
wrapped tight, standing still,
entirely devoid of will,
hoping to pop out soon.
A majestic creature is his goal,
a being envy-worthy,
relieved of al the dirty
marks upon his soul.
But a human ain't no butterfly,
its wings don't just grow,
it has other means though
to take off into the sky.
