Little things loom large for the tiny whiskered one.

Each new golden petal, an homage to the Sun.

Gigantic caves of granite, oppressive in the heat.

The dragon in its lair… too small for dragon feet.

 

Many are the multitudes, of mice upon the Earth.

Dragons are desired – but are blighted by their girth.

The mouse can eat a barn of handsome, wholesome, wheat.

The dragon has the power to burn the barn…complete.

 

Each one has its manner, some qualities – on inspection.

Meaning…or its substance, only on reflection.

The dragon and the mouse, not often seen together.

In poetry and verse… as common as the weather.

 

© The Secret Poetess, February 2017

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