There it is, on the tree, in the grass.
Everywhere: small, round, ancient.
A creature of green brass.
I admire it as it sits patient.
Have you ever seen a beetle of June?
A hardened body of black.
Two shields as beautiful as a rune.
Shield to protect wings with little slack.
A queen's jewel.
No bigger than a penny.
The perfect size for the queen to rule.
If she wanted, she could wear twenty.
But as beautiful as it may be.
Death and rebirth is always near to see.
ESTÁS LEYENDO
To Write or Not to Write
De TodoIf a rock plops into a river... And if there is no one there to hear it. How do we knew if it hits the bottom? How do we know if it didn't throw itself back out? Or flow down the stream? Or... Does everything just hits rock bottom? Like me. ...
