Breeze

Brushing gently

Across small shards of verdant life.

Spinning, whirling,

They whisper to each other.

 

Apollo’s arrows pierce through

Dappling the ground,

Maestros of a waltz

Of light and shadow.

 

Slender arms reach up

Naively grasping at the sky

As their torso nestles closer

to warm earth.

 

How can something so ancient

be so alive?