Littlest Amends
To kill, the shrill of a thrill,
To take any life is truly wrong.
Thou shall not hurt even a fly.
They are guardians of the sky.
They begin crawling strong.
Disgustingly devouring meal,
Each organism has a plan.
Serving nature’s scheme,
Designing a destiny,
Between now and infinity
When it becomes extreme,
Bringing about another span,
As always existence ends.
All things must perish.
To bring out renewal,
There must be removal.
Stretching out to cherish,
You will make amends.
Copyright © Cecil Hickman | Year Posted 2011
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