If life were measured like a thread, who will cut off
the fly from a spider's fiber, dead and swinging like a pendulum?
How many threads can bury a spider with legs dismembered
by soldier ants crawling over his upside-down body?
Stirring the mud, the rain digs on the earth a shallow grave.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
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2 comments:
Love this poem!
Hey Dominique,
Thanks for passing by!
Joel
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