Apart from breathing, how gain you respect
Above that which low life forms should possess?
Your passage here—what laurels do bedeck’
What triumphs won through diligent finesse?
All wealth accrued through ill-begotten gain,
All merit worn, so weaved from black deceit,
All pleasure bought by other people’s pain,
All efforts greased by gall and greed complete.
Scurvy dung beetle, metering out it’s time—
Each day that ball of refuse larger grows;
Living off earth’s dirt and rankest grime,
Prisoner of the only life it knows.
If there be gods, one day a gracious step
Shall crush that bug—that it may not beget.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.