Found and Lost

By: Raiker Venn

A tiny form that scurries on the ground,
While whispering “May we always be found.”
Adrift within a storm of boots and legs,
Where countless moving bodies form the clouds,
He lifts his voice and vainly pleads and begs;
Through all his life, he’d always hated crowds.
A man approached him, all his pomp displayed,
And asked if he could offer any aid.
The creature jumped for joy and blinked his eye,
This was more luck than his kind ever knew,
A stranger who would help homunculi?
This man would tell him what he had to do!
He’d found a shore from whence the tempest tossed,
But then the man just grinned, and said “Get Lost!”