They surely are pretty
Yet they’re small and fuzzy
Would their babbling be translated
We’d hear them yelling
“I aaaam, I diiiid, I aaaam, I diiiid”.
Whilst among the smallest ones
“I haaaave, I booought”
Whereas rubbing one another,
Unable to reckon their origin,
Desperately trying to look bigger
Than they are or will ever be
I choose to follow the way of the rock
Quiet, passive and serene
Moving so slowly that only eras could tell
Looking the same while in constant change
Though seeming fruitless, pervading around
Providing the home, the shelter, the nest
Loathed by the little which crosses its path,
Amused by all the fuss around.
Would our ears be able to hear them
These would be the lessons we’d take
“Be constant, be selfless, be whole”.