1/21/11

There are fish in a bowl, but they know not their role,

As they flitter about in their single-celled shoal.

They sustain occupation in feeding and flight,

Marked by vague punctuation of darkness and light.

They have very few questions, crave little affection,

Their quandaries involve but to swim which direction.

And though their small minds know no better or worse,

They are largely confined from the whole universe.