Why?

Why do you worship me so?

I offer nothing

But yet you continue?

I am the god of little things

I don’t control the seas.

Or the sky’s.

I don’t control life.

Or death.

I am the god, of the falling leaf.

I am the god, of the snowflake.

I am the god, of the humming bugs.

And, I can offer nothing in return.

So why? Why do you build me shrines?

Why do you give me offerings?

Why do you kneel at my altar, and pray?

I am the god of little things,

I can offer nothing.

Not when the god of war comes, and takes your village

Or when the god of death comes, and takes your soul.

So why?

Why do you have yourself buried,

Under the god, of little things?

Under the god, of the falling leaves?