On stony ground, a small black beetle,
a scarab struggles; stubbornly he toils,
to push, to roll a large brown ball of dung.
When ball sticks, he tries a pull, if no go, he
climbs on top and crawls forward on the dung;
the ball rolls forward under extra weight.
The beetle falls, gets up and begins to push again.
He repeats this many many times, a push, a pull,
a climb, a fall, get up, push on, till ball of dung
finds resting hole, and is a larder for the young.
Scarab fights not for self, it has no selfish
thought of that, he perseveres, he carries on,
he ensures survival for the life that is to come.
Bob Blackwell
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/resolve-5/
