  IF this little world to-night Suddenly should fall through space In a hissing, headlong flight, Shrivelling from off its face, As it falls into the sun, In an instant every trace Of the little crawling things— Ants, philosophers, and lice, Cattle, cockroaches, and kings, Men and maggots—all as one, As it falls into the sun— Who can say but at the same Instant, from some planet far A child may watch us, and exclaim: “See the pretty shooting star!” Oliver Herford. |
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