The Woodlouse

Design by Anasthasia Shilov

Nestled in the walnut chair

I am a buried louse.

I’ve proudly chomped on this hard wood

And made a wooden house.

By day, I watch my window,

Strange figures passing by—

By night, oppressed by loneliness,

I heave a heavy sigh.

I listen to man’s chatter

With my gnarled lousy ear

And fall in love with words and songs

That I then overhear.

Cursing my limpid, open heart

I mourn my loveless plight

And scramble out my wooden hole

Into dawn’s withering light.

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