Midges In The Sunshine

If I could see with a midge’s eye Or think with a midge’s brain, I wonder what I’d say of the world With all its joy and pain. Would my seven brief hours of mortal life Seem as long as seventy years, As I danced in the flickering sunshine Amid my tiny peers? Should I feel the slightest hope or care For the midges yet to be; Or think I died before my time If I died at half-past three, Instead of living till set of sun On the breath of the summer wind; Or dream that the world was made for me And all my little kind? Perhaps if I did I’d know as much Of Nature’s mighty plan, And what it meant for good or ill, As that larger midge, a man!

Anonymous.