Blindly we build our burrows
Scraping around in the cold dark earth.
Our subterranean labyrinth reaches out,
Then, grasping nothing, collapses.
Something calls us to the surface.
We emerge confused into the light,
Bedazzled by birdsong and breezes,
The strength of the sun
Whose vast immensity
We have no capacity to comprehend.
We feel something, understand nothing.
We turn tails and scrabble back
To the industrious dark.
By Lizzie Sherwood-Smith