The flint stone miniature house
With clay tiled barns in the back
At two in the morning a mouse
With scritches and scratches no lack
Scurries and worries across the ceiling
Between two floors unbeknownst
That he soon will be caught or killed
And this—this is life

The daffodils spring forth to life
In neat planted rows front and back
At two in the morning exhibit no strife
Still in darkness no bright yellow color they lack
Their soft breezy talk of no meaning
Between two worlds unbeknownst
That by serving their purpose will perish
And this—this is life

The snail in the rich moistened soil
'Neath rock garden path in the back
At two in the morning so sluggish in toil
No hurry, no worry, no time do they lack
Silently crunching and munching this evening
Between two rocks unbeknownst
That soon in a sauce he will meet his end
And this—this is life

The men stand tall and proud in their places
With arms at their sides, and rods in their back
At two in the morning their pale sleeping faces
Have restful peace dreams of no lack
Silently, roaring, they march with quick striding
Between two worlds unbeknownst
That all men's glory fades like the grass
And this—this is life

03/17/2007

Posted on 04/03/2007
Copyright © 2026 Oliver Drewman