The World

The World

The World it whirled around it's Sun,
Around and round as its time begun.
Down upon it's surface sphere,
Tiny people did shortly appear.
They struggled, fought, played and loved.
Built great cities, sciences, arts, and above,
Their heads the Sun sat in it's voidy Throne,
And round this the World spun on alone.
A Million years has passed, and still,
The World it's wandering way does till.
The strange tiny people all have gone,
And not a voice recalls in song.
Their momentary triumphs, their great struggles,
All have none, to speak of them, or what was done.
For all is dust, at the end of day, and though folks may talk and folks may pray,
No more than that, will come their way.


Tamara Wilding Feb2016 Not Inspired.

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