A tiny speck, a mote of dust.
One of millions — of wind, a tiny gust.
A tiny atom, or particle minute.
All but invisible; a trivial pursuit.
So insignificant, mostly unknown.
Almost invisible — like a bird now flown.
But in Your eyes, Lord, as Your gaze falls on me,
I am soon made whole, and touch eternity.
clarakatalin 
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