As I the oval shrine addressed
(intent to ease my bladder's stress)
I spied upon the brush a bug
reposed in contemplation.

It sat there silent, steeped in thought
(as I imagined), though I ought
to say it did not share with me
its scaly cogitations,

but rather eased with legs atwiddle,
jet black of rump and mauve of middle
unknowing of a diety
(at least in scale) observing.

Such peace (I thought), such inward bliss,
this ninety-legged nihilist
appeared to own, unshaken as
it met its doom unswerving.

It swam a bit, before the swirl,
quite leisurely until the whirl
of worldly care intruded on
its thick-skinned apperception,

and while relieved to see it go
its washy way, I'd like to know
the bug, wherever it bobs up
will meet a warm reception.

 
NaPoWriMo 2005, April 9