Why are the most beautiful clothes
such a pain to wear,
while the sloppiest ones
can be a breath of fresh air?
Is it the same reason that
the dirt poor are some of the greatest folk I've met?
Or the fact a rich man
will somehow find it hard to sleep
even in his king-sized bed?
Though carrying leaves and twigs along the ride
we are as rivers that ceaselessly flow.
They sing and roar through each day and night
knowing in their hearts one simple truth,
"Naked we come and naked we go!"