Bhutan
Crippled by a meteorite
Which falls from up on high,
The ant sees not the glory
Of a clear, and bright-filled sky,
And little does it understand
The magnitude that hour,
When realisation dawns at last,
Of the rays of Sun that shower
Over all who bask
Reflected in it’s size and power,
Giving forth such grace and beauty,
And asking naught; empower
Us it will at once,
And in the light we’ll see,
The ant is thus forever part
Of our attempt to be free.
The author is not affiliated with any political or religious organisation. Where the work makes reference to God, Lord, Christ or Saviour, for example, substitution for the reader’s preferred spiritual nomenclature is welcomed and encouraged.