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THE SONNET OF A CENTIPEDE

Across the sands a weary path I tread,
Life is not soft for me, it's not a cinch,
Like ships of old with many oars outspread
I move a hundred legs to walk an inch.

Some might have thought so many legs a boon,
Helping me move like lightning.  It's not true.
More is not better, big is not opportune:
Sometimes I wish I had just four or two.

Still I believe my footsteps do make sense:
My role may be to clown and to amuse,
Giving a hint of Your magnificence,
Grateful at least I don't have to wear shoes.

Oh, how I love to run barefoot through sand
Feeling a hundred thrills.  Dear God, that's grand!




from the forthcoming book Prayers of 100 Animals A to Z, by William Cleary

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