Symphony

A silkworm is born
from rings of tiny chimes
He eats, he grows
the crunch of marching drums
He slinks along
'pon tears of violins
He spins his home
from winding harpsichords
Inside he grows
with patient cello tones
Until at last with perfect pitch pipe ears
he hears the call in rich polyphony
And out he bursts
to fly on flautist winds
The butterfly, he tumbles on bright wings
like rainbow painted notes from bardic strings