There is something rare

     Sunlight on the spiderwebs

Does a spider know

     Its creation shimmers bright

Beneath the small verdant leaves?

Why does a fly still

     Struggle for life in the web?

The arachnid comes

     Drawn to the pathetic sight

Still it tries to stay alive

Brown oak of the desk

     I touch it, feel the tree rings

Why do we cut down

    Such a wise living thing? 

We crave comfort, not lessons

Another crow caws

    It does not care if it's loud.

Crows have better things

    They can concern themselves with

Than the human’s annoyance

Certainly, you know

     The seasons always must change

Yet still you cling on 

     To a figment of the past

And think a dry leaf a rose.