Poor Wee Mite Poem by Raymond Farrell
Poor Wee Mite
Rating: ★3.5
Cowering down upon the floor
Poor wee mite would lie
Faint its brain would tell
Now's the time to die.
Up it rises and runs a pace
With legs full speed agoing
Making good its final race
Before it feels the crushing blow.
Poor wee critter expecting but to die
What if now our lots were switched
And I were you and you were I
Would you let me live or die?
Friday, January 27, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: commentary
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5/10/2024 3:01:02 AM # 1.0.0.1119
