Oversensitive To A Snail

My loss, not to notice
With whom coexist I.
My shame, not to think twice
On these fellow creatures
With fearful natures.

Looked down of their maker
And my accuser-God.
In that tread space, number
Invites but night's lone view;
Love's rued, life's in review.

by james watkin

Comments (1)

nicely narrated one It's upward to the ceiling, where the chambers said to be. Like the forest fight for sunlight, that takes root in every tree. They are pulled up by the magnet, believing they're free. The carpet crawlers heed their callers: