The little people
See the big wide world
In deep and shiny focus;
Every sentient thing
Wears its praise and blame.
The giant people
Have insect-like eyes
Compelled to read patterns
Only they can see;
A thread becomes a world.
The roses the little ones
Throw at their feet
Are shadows of darkness and light,
But the eyes returned in confusion
Bear bright the purest of wisdom.
It's as if they are watching a birth out of nothing,
Some color to light the familiar world,
But the giants vanish when eyes adapt to their light.
The little people fear they're too small
Swallowed in how large they've become.
