The soft babble of a lock,
A spider jumping fast.
Sitting doing nothing
The afternoon did pass.
The sun upon my neck,
A view unto my eye.
What a world is this,
Such majesty to a-spy.
Softly guided by the wind,
A butterfly a-floating.
A painting just for me,
Flowers tall a-growing.
To sit, and wonder,
To stare and never bore.
To rest and ponder
What this life is for.
