There is a plan
a step by step map
directions drawn
through time, hopes, mishaps.
Seasons move along
sunny bright to autumn fall
droplets on my window
or the chill down the hall
Always a new day
as night reaches end
always a way
even as walk meets dead-end.
The cycle is life
all things survive;
if one seems to go
another; ready to grow
Change or demise;
remember as you cry,
What the caterpillar calls the end;
the master calls a butterfly.