What is life to the crows who pick
food off of city streets and country alike
or the rose that sways gently in the wind
as curtains swayed in my bedroom?
What is life to the dove who sits in branches
watching the first few people leave for work
and the man, begging for enough to eat?
The dove watched him fade into dust on the street
corner, and flew to meet his spirit.
What is life to the butterfly whose moment is but
a breath of air and the simple open and close of our eyes?
Does she worry about her legacy? Does she feel satisfied
with what she has accomplished in her life?
What is life to the apple tree that stood longer than the
life of many generations of grandparents and grandchildren?
Standing through storms of rain and snow
breathing through the diminution of time as hour after hour
passed and new years were ahead with a sigh and feebleness felt by the tree
What is life to the heart who see's not skin but soul? What does it want
to tell us about ourselves? And how do we learn from its life?
what is life when living does not ring true?