On the Amazon Trail in Eugene, I saw two caterpillars today. One alive, one dead. A poem:

A long wooly caterpillar slinked o’er a jogging trail.
Its steady undulations puffed “I cannot permit a fail.”

It focused its ambition on crossing to the low cool green,
And got there, relieved now to be beyond the human scene.

A shorter wooly, charged one-third the way, gasped, then upturned.
Feet to the sun, its plumpness biding pick up by a bird.

Drying, its spirit whispered as it passed our mortal sight:
‘I burned life’s candle at both ends, and gave a lovely light.”