Max Reif - Metamorphosis

A <i>dilettante</i> ate leaves of poems,
ingesting thick, delicious tomes.

So much he ate, he spun a web
and fell asleep like he was dead.

No one knows of what he dreamed—
whether rhyming or 'vers libre'.

For months he lay within that crypt,
(dreaming up a manuscript?)

And when Spring came, he gnawed a door,
and out he flew—a <i>connoisseur</i>.

Max Reif

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/metamorphosis-4/