| MY cocoon tightens, colors tease, | |
| I ’m feeling for the air; | |
| A dim capacity for wings | |
| Degrades the dress I wear. | |
| A power of butterfly must be | 5 |
| The aptitude to fly, | |
| Meadows of majesty concedes | |
| And easy sweeps of sky. | |
| So I must baffle at the hint | |
| And cipher at the sign, | 10 |
| And make much blunder, if at last | |
| I take the clew divine. -emily dickinson |
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