A Considerable Speck
A speck that would have been beneath my sight
any but a paper sheet so white
Set off across what I had written there.
And I had idly poised my pen in air
To stop it with a period of
When something strange about it made me think,
This was no dust
speck by my breathing blown,
But unmistakably a living mite
inclinations it could call its own.
It paused as with suspicion of
And then came racing wildly on again
To where my manuscript
was not yet dry;
Then paused again and either drank or smelt--
loathing, for again it turned to fly.
Plainly with an intelligence I
It seemed too tiny to have room for feet,
Yet must have
had a set of them complete
To express how much it didn't want to die.
It ran with terror and with cunning crept.
It faltered: I could see
Then in the middle of the open sheet
Cower down in
desperation to accept
Whatever I accorded it of fate.
none of the tenderer-than-thou
Collectivistic regimenting love
which the modern world is being swept.
But this poor microscopic item
Since it was nothing I knew evil of
I let it lie there till I
hope it slept.
I have a mind myself and recognize
Mind when I
meet with it in any guise
No one can know how glad I am to find
any sheet the least display of mind.