Many But Few

I've seen Little,
Observing an old bettle
Dragging itself along,
A long-decayed log
Things below horizon and plain
Mystery no word could explain
A span spent brief, undone
A windy flames Of holy sun,
That made apple field grew blight
Myriads moons, shady and ghostful night
A fed beast that halt not to leap
And hungered but a meek sheep
One and half scale robbed as two
A ruling fool, wise in servitude
Evils that came so slow
Much tears shed out in woe
Birds that qurrelled on tree
Over a dead little bee
Fathers, instead of farming
Teach their children gambling
Snail beneath a lake a-warm
Demi-owl flying in man's arm
The same but wealthy lass
Hid their purse from beggers
Beyond a mountaineer's view,
I've seen many but written few.