What are the small things owed
They that die so we might live
What are the small things owed
When sacrifice is called to give
What do we owe these lives we crush
So ours might be the better
What do we owe the tiny lives we mindlessly plow under

What are the small things owed?

There's actually a story to this. While cleaning I found a nest of newborn mice. I sat & watched them, knowing they'll grow up...make more mice & also that they are living beings & helpless. Did I owe them a fast death? Life? Was my life *more*? I left them to their mom.

Most the time when I find mouse nests while doing farm chores I throw them to the chickens or call the farm dogs over. Farm life demands sacrifice of all kinds. Death is part & parcel to a farm. It's something I never take lightly & that's what this poem is about.