Aliens
The chatter of little people Breaks on my purpose Like the water-drops which slowly wear the rocks to powder. And while I laugh My spirit crumbles at their teasing touch.
Amy Lowell
The chatter of little people Breaks on my purpose Like the water-drops which slowly wear the rocks to powder. And while I laugh My spirit crumbles at their teasing touch.
The speaker feels cut off from the people around her, as if their ordinary talk belongs to a species she cannot fully join. Their chatter is not loud or dramatic; it is small, persistent, and somehow alien to her deeper purpose. She compares it to dripping water that slowly wears rock into powder.
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