What Are We?
Dancing on the playful breeze
Resting in the notches of trees
Sharing their sweet voices
Making only meaningful choices
Bright, clean spirits thrive
Within our universal beehive
Often we see only life’s troubles
And are told to blow bubbles
In a frustrated rage
We pick on the sage
Who unwittingly wishes to save us
From the sly devil’s cuss
As the young listen to what is told
They lose their virgin light and grow old
It is now too late
It has succumbed to fate
The wrathful world in its head
The mockingbird is dead
