It seemed through endless ages that the fire had raged,
Fuel been expended and destruction wrought. -
The fire burned,
And having burned,
All was consumed.
It seemed that there remained but ashes.
There struggled forth –
A phoenix? –
The tiny cocoon of a worm lay on the pyre.
The minute creature
Has begun to gnaw
Its way to life.
With what strange form will the awakened one
Alarm us? –
Formed out of tragedy and outrage?
Shall we be privileged to view?
It is too dangerous,
And far, oh far too brave,
This small endeavour. –
We will unwind its gossamer;
We will sew up its gentle, dying mouth.
Margaret Wilde © 2009