Were I but now the pitch-dark crow that files
Or yet a plain drab beetle on the ground,
A golden eagle that ascends on high
Or Yeti crab sea deep in crevice found;
Here still the light of life would course my veins
Imbuing there an essence old as time,
Thus where on high or far below the main
So share a bond that no soul can decry.
A life is still a life though great or small
And while our bonds be knit by narrow strands;
Whether we run, fly, slither, swim or crawl,
All grace born of four letters writ in sand.
So if these brethren vanish, n’er to see —
How ever lonely would our planet be.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.