The thin caterpillars fatten
Into Wall St. bankers
Feasting on the vine’s green leaves
Where the butterfly placed
Her pin-prick eggs one at a time
Now an army of ruin and devastation
Flaying even the stems
And killing their own source
Sweeps over them all
Just so they can curl up in their shrouds
Doze off behind their gauzy curtains
While some magic happens
And they wake as butterflies again
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