A fog horn calls from a distance
over caving gravel road
tarred with oil stained rings.
A faraway morning bird sings
the song of destiny.
Who is this earth for?
Is it for the tree landing bird or the newly paved man-made road?
Who serves who?
Are man's failures a win for birds?
Or is man's evolution the ultimate demise for earth?
So much still to be learned
or choose to close the eyes and not champion.
Living is a dream with commotion lurking.
What I’ve learned is to live small like a bird.
Their song though readily heard
sings from within shaded tree limbs
where they are less likely to be disturbed.
