“Listen! My little one. As you prepare to leave this place,
to fly away, to follow the traditions of our race –
Attend to my voice, I must make it clear
Let it be always the echo, resounding in your ear:
We are not the only ones, other playing fields exist,
The natural world plays no game without a twist.
The means that others have can keep their lives intact
They may have no wings, yet other skills are level in impact.
“A spider spends each night with her shuttle, weaving
a trap so delicate, by dawn it hangs wet with dew, deceiving
any who would choose the shorter distance and fly through
the web of intricate design. Entrapped, our kind must pay its due.
Yet the winner of this battle, as she eats, before her eyes,
will feel the tremor made by men, who walking by will pulverize
all her well-wrought plans. The life on this planet we all inhabit
daily dances, takes its chances, hoping to win in a decision split.”
Christmas is rolling in ever faster, and we await with anticipation the birth of the Christ child, once again, in our hearts. Such anticipation is enough. . .