Self Portrait

I watch as the cocoon splits.

The Caterpillar is no more;
it's time to fly.

Images traverse my brain,
some, fading water colours,
others, oils; strangely older,
yet brighter and more vibrant.

Now, there is a new canvas,
blank, vast and....strange!

As I approach, a pair of wings
unfold, blocking my
line of vision.

A voice that I know and
love so well, whispers...
not unkindly; softly,
apologetically...

'I must be the artist now.
Let me paint ,my colours
my brush strokes.
You have taught me well;
trust me!'

I stand back and watch, as
with confident strokes,
he forms the self-portrait
of a young man,
who was but yesterday
….a boy.