With apologies to Joyce Kilmer

I think that I shall never see
A poem tiny as a flea.
Although my vision’s 20/10
(Compared with that of other men,
That’s rather good), I rather doubt
That I could make a poem out
On such a microscopic scale.
My eagle eyes, I fear, would fail
Me when confronted with so fine
A typeface. Even eyes like mine
Are not all-seeing; even they
Can’t read a strand of DNA
Without a magnifying glass
(A rather potent one), alas!
Alas, I say, for fools like me,
Who long to read what we can’t see!
A cruel trick, to give men eyes
That only see a certain size!
And what’s the use — explain, I plead! —
Of poems only God can read?

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Filed under Poetry, Silliness

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