O caterpillar, daughter of the butterfly,
You too one day will soar past tower and roof,
Past boring little dachas in the suburbs.
Yet no mere louse are you fated to remain—
You’ll outstrip yourself, slipping from your skin.
Wherever—over earth or leaf—you crawl
Your body has to work a little harder,
You’re a real
Shakin’ break-dancer,
And a hundred flowers all blaze bright for you.
Translated by Jenefer Coates