Foolish beetle, rolling a ball of waste,
Do not you know your feces has no worth?

What a waste of the precious gift of life
In light of bright white stars and vast blue seas,
There is so much more in the world than dung,
Alas with indefatigable grit,
Perhaps a curse of Darwinian perfection,
You pack and push your single earthly thing,
From place to place. It is the only life
You know or have been taught to know.
And though I want to pity you, small arthropod,
I too know how it feels to wander on one’s own,
Wondering why and when the time to quit
Amassing an incessant ball of ****.