larva, chrysalis, imago

To a Friend Whose Work has Come to Nothing
- W. B. Yeats

Now all the truth is out,

Be secret and take defeat

From any brazen throat,

For how can you compete,

Being honor bred, with one

Who were it proved he lies

Were neither shamed in his own

Nor in his neighbors' eyes;

Bred to a harder thing

Than Triumph, turn away

And like a laughing string

Whereon mad fingers play

Amid a place of stone,

Be secret and exult,

Because of all things known

That is most difficult.

I dunno. I just like it. And now, on to the rest of the day. Join us for "silly poem minute" again tomorrow, same time, same place!