My ways they are a-changing!

‘Interesting times’, said the butterfly,
'flitting among the flowers
instead of crawling all day long
chomping at leaves for hours!’ …

‘Interesting times, but different now:
the flowers have turned into seed;
I think it’s cold, so I’ll hibernate
as I can no longer feed!’

‘Interesting times’, said the woodworm,
‘I think I’ve chewed enough,
I’m near the surface now, I’ll sleep,
to be ready to leave this dinner so tough,
then I’ll see the light
for a few days’ flight!’

[IP: Interesting Times]