Like a tiny speck of dust,
Found not beneath the naked eye,
As though never being,
Their leafs be the wingspan heroes,
Whilst they nectar adored,
In search of one lost egg,
How I wish not me finds!
No, my legs fickle and many,
Who could not fly nor suck,
Nor make fact from pretence,
Nor essence from base truth,
I run the green coating me green,
There, my subtle word spoken silent,
For none to hear, just me alone,
This much whilst I beget the green,
And all I take shall the world pass,
Then the light and night in anguish call,
I see not yond, but still I bite and chew.

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