Moves no more the glass bead eye
lies in a frozen stare
arms thrown up to the sky
it lies in silent prayer.

It's too late for its blood in rot
can't reach the god's smallest thought
the putrid flesh on the road red hot
will soon bring the feasting maggot.

Yet it prays if reaches firmament
moves the god to think of its pain
next time he spares it the bitter time spent
doesn't make it a rodent again.