Will the ladybird ever know?

Will the ladybird ever know
that the giant hand
that snatched her and threw her
out in the open,
so vehemently,
belonged to a man
who breathes
and feels
and fears (with tears, occasionally)
and smiles, once in a blue moon?

"It is the ultimate earthquake,
the terminal world shake",
the ladybird thought
as she surrendered with prayer
to the giant hand
that belonged to a man
with a heart fairly decent,
intentions increasingly good
and habits unfailingly wretched.

Will the ladybird ever know
that the giant hand
once touched the giant man's quivering lip
to blow a kiss to another
warm-blooded giant?
That it falters at times?
That it draws lilies
and penguins
and planets
and once in a blue moon,
a wee black-spotted red-winged princess
who's bound to chance upon a saviour.

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