An old family bird said to me,
befuddled by my struggle to shed history,
“Perhaps you’re going through the change, Dear!”
I replied, “No, no, no! We’ll not be calling it ‘the change;’
as if I’ve already given life the lion’s share of my self-worth, and
am now left to purchase joy with what remains.
I’m a damned monarch for crying out loud,
and this here is metamorphosis!
Now stand back that I may fly!”