Life so strange and random for a worm,
does it wonder how things come about?
With chance a player in its circumstances
the usefulness of planning one may doubt.
For the silkworm – far into the distance
– sees a roof, and believes it there by chance.
A roof of course is not of chance but planning –
a silkworm’s world ends upon its branch.
It knows nothing, of plans or greater powers
for the branches length is far too short.
But what of us? Perhaps our depth of insight
at times equates the silkworm we might thwart.
The roof we see – instead a distant star.
It does exist! Light years far away.
As a silkworm, cluelessly confounded,
we too might ask if chance has won the day.
But we are perched upon our little branch –
a trace of dust in God’s great, vast expanse.
From our perspective is it safe to reckon
as the worm, and just believe in chance?
(The Random Poet:11012021
www.therandompoet.com)