klara[dot]nz

I wish I was a pill-bug,

Parked on the out-house door,

In the rain, handle dry with wind,

Nibbling on the wood, nestling,

Closer to the meal.

I could miss my absent family,

A hundred million years recognisable,

Or wonder where they are,

In the time spent passing by, maybe

Exploring wondrous tree-roots,

And great fungus, with friends.

Keeping far-off, just down the road,

Places I'd never find.

Still, I get to be a pill-bug;

A part of the great machine.

Thanks for leaving me, a bit of a parasite.