On stony ground, a small black beetle,
a scarab struggles; stubbornly he toils,
to push, to roll a large brown ball of dung.
When ball sticks, he tries a pull, if no go, he
climbs on top and crawls forward on the dung;
the ball rolls forward under extra weight.
The beetle falls, gets up and begins to push again.
He repeats this many many times, a push, a pull,
a climb, a fall, get up, push on, till ball of dung
finds resting hole, and is a larder for the young.
Scarab fights not for self, it has no selfish
thought of that, he perseveres, he carries on,
he ensures survival for the life that is to come.
Outstanding observation combined with your talent = a grand piece
I spy the first class observational skills of a philosopher poet here.... grand. t x
Bob, you can almost relate our own struggles with this beetle. How we climb, fall, get up and climb again. A beautiful little poem that says more in a few words than some longer and difficult read poems. Truly beautiful. Vivid imagery. I like the last line, he ensures survival for the life that is to come. Brilliant. Thanks for sharing this wonderful little poem. David.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
What a unique perspective on resolve! Sometimes we can learn the biggest lessons from the smallest things.