Small and roundish
they creep cross the floor.
Under the table and neath the closed door.
They creep round in circles
objectives unknown
so often unseen but by those bending low.
It takes careful eyes
to see what can’t fly
though they creep underneath and our noses right by.
Who are these small fiends
living rent-free
wandering about wherever they please?
What secrets do they hold
that they tread on in stealth?
What mysteries unfold
in the places they dwell?
Sit very still,
sit there on the ground.
If you’re patient you’ll find
what so few have found.
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