Something Small Poem by Maria T
Something Small
Sometimes I take to the wind
and fly up like a bug,
just a bee wandering around the woods.
Making no dent,
breaking no twigs,
tossed around in the breeze,
so unbelievably useless
to weight of the world
and the realness of death
tugging on my wings.
All there is to do,
is let the wind grab on
and throw me into the leaves.
While I sit at the dinner table.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/28/2026 5:59:02 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
