The Dung Beetle

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A beetle, carapax shining
in the afternoon sun,
I struggle across the plain.
My ball of everything,
both weight and goal,
anchors me to my task.
The effort I put in
creating my globe,
pinning me down
to this earth,
its minuscule details
and minute imperfections
reminding me
that I must keep going
on this world of titans.
So I roll the sun
into the night
and I feel the weight
of the planet I carry
on my shoulders.
Slowly I move
one cautious step
after the other
in my path
towards the infinite.
Globe on my shoulders,
spheres ahead of me,
pearls of sweat
caught in my eyebrows.
And I march
towards my goal,
not a soldier
but a beetle
of the universe,
insignificant
in my greatness.

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