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— to tiny bug

Oh, to tiny bug, the world seems so hard to live,

Where winds are tempests, and raindrops unforgiving.


And life, too, hands you its coldest sting—

A footstep looms, and you’re brushed away.

The path you build is crumbled, erased,

Your fragile dreams left cruelly displaced.


You’re turned from the flower, swept off the ground,
A journey of seeking, where refuge’s not found.

Yet on you crawl, with legs so frail,
Through grassy jungles and dusty trails.
You bear rejection, relentless and stark.


Oh, little bug, your struggle seems grand,

To carry your world in a grain of sand.


-vic

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