Small, not insignificant

Shall we be players in a children’s sand pit?
Sand drifting through their fingers
Forming mountains and valleys as it falls
Raked and moulded by hand and plastic tool
Landscaping our terrain
We be the little ant beings at the foot of these hills
Where a finger carves a path for us to travel on
And our rain water spilled from a sippy-cup
The flat plains left by their departing playmate
We not participants at their level
But still able to make choices for how we
Interact in this game of theirs
Not simply toys on their playground


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