Little Fly,
Thy summer’s play
My thoughtless hand
Has brushed away.
Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?
For I dance
And drink, and sing,
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.
If thought is life
And strength and breath
And the want
Of thought is death;
Then am I
A happy fly,
If I live,
Or if I die.
- poem by William Blake
It makes you realize why we want to destroy the world so easily when we only ever see the world as being convenient for us only and not for all life no matter what shape or form it comes in.