Grain Of Sand Poem by Francois Malan

Tiny, tiny grain of sand,
pebble rolled in my hand,
pebble tucked into my pocket,
becomes a grain small and flat.

Sun, so vast in the blue,
I make but an eyelet of you,
shine in me pebble grain,
enough for this moment's gain.

Baby who cries from the womb,
nothing in the world is large,
whisper now, laugh and speak,
silence on Dead End Street.

World so round and sky so blue,
a grain is what I make of you,
house with door and two slits for eyes,
garden of blue daisies lies.

Arrow feathered in the sky,
love dwindles by and by
Carpenter is building a chest,
I ready myself for the final rest.

Tiny grain is my breath,
grain of nothing is my death.