seen from above

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"A dead beetle lies on the path through the field.

Three pairs of legs folded neatly on its belly.

Instead of death's confusion, tidiness and order.

The horror of this sight is moderate,

its scope is strictly local, from the wheat grass to the mint.

The grief is quarantined.

The sky is blue.

To preserve our peace of mind, animals die
more shallowly: they aren't deceased, they're dead.
They leave behind, we'd like to think, less feeling and less world,
departing, we suppose, from a stage less tragic.
Their meek souls never haunt us in the dark,
they know their place,
they show respect." 

I've posted from this poem once before, but added another verse, simply because all around me, I see the signs of the approaching winter. Death.  

- From the poem "Seen From Above" by Nobel Prize winning poet Wislawa Szymborska

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