All along the beach
Tiny holes litter the sand
And inside each hole along this
Tiny strip of sand and tide
Live the tiny people
They are a simple people
Who walk swinging their tiny arms
And sometimes hold their tiny hands
So they can swing together
They love to take short walks along their holes
And leave behind a short trail of tiny footprints
They collect and dry grass
To weave tiny little hats for their tiny little heads
And go out into the water
At night they lie out on the sand and gaze up at the stars
And think about how these tiny dots
Make them seem even tinier
Their lives can be tremendous
When their tiny fires die down
They reach out
And reassure their love
Sometimes the day turns dark
And tiny drops of water fall from the ashen clouds
But for tiny people these create big floods
The dead are buried in tiny graves
And the living make even tinier drops of water
As if in a fit of irony
The wind is known to sweep away the tiny people
Like the smoke cut out of their tiny pipes
They never like to venture far from their holes
After many seasons
The tides rise far up the beach
And the tiny people are swept away
All are left are the tiny holes littering the sand
Staring at the sun as it passes over into the seas to sleep
Waiting for more tiny people to call them home
Sep 12, 2011
Sep 12, 2011 at 11:26 PM UTC
All along the beach
Tiny holes litter the sand
And inside each hole along this
Tiny strip of sand and tide
Live the tiny people
They are a simple people
Who walk swinging their tiny arms
And sometimes hold their tiny hands
So they can swing together
They love to take short walks along their holes
And leave behind a short trail of tiny footprints
They collect and dry grass
To weave tiny little hats for their tiny little heads
And go out into the water
At night they lie out on the sand and gaze up at the stars
And think about how these tiny dots
Make them seem even tinier
Their lives can be tremendous
When their tiny fires die down
They reach out
And reassure their love
Sometimes the day turns dark
And tiny drops of water fall from the ashen clouds
But for tiny people these create big floods
The dead are buried in tiny graves
And the living make even tinier drops of water
As if in a fit of irony
The wind is known to sweep away the tiny people
Like the smoke cut out of their tiny pipes
They never like to venture far from their holes
After many seasons
The tides rise far up the beach
And the tiny people are swept away
All are left are the tiny holes littering the sand
Staring at the sun as it passes over into the seas to sleep
Waiting for more tiny people to call them home
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