Further Poems of Emily Dickinson/A fuzzy fellow without feet

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A FUZZY fellow without feetYet doth exceeding run!Of velvet is his countenanceAnd his complexion dun.
Sometimes he dwelleth in the grass,Sometimes upon a boughFrom which he doth descend in plushUpon the passer-by.
All this in summer—But when winds alarm the forest folk,He taketh damask residenceAnd struts in sewing silk.
Then, finer than a lady,Emerges in the spring,A feather on each shoulder—You'd scarce accredit him.
By men yelept a caterpillar—By me—but who am ITo tell the pretty secretOf the Butterfly!
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