A bird in a tree
Is a little like me
A worm in the soil is too—
Like the briars for a hare,
Soft hay for a mare,
Or a burrow for a shrew
Their contentment rings true
As each day comes anew,
Their lives full of unspoken grace
They don’t struggle and shove;
For beneath or above,
They’ve found their happy place
Is a little like me
A worm in the soil is too—
Like the briars for a hare,
Soft hay for a mare,
Or a burrow for a shrew
Their contentment rings true
As each day comes anew,
Their lives full of unspoken grace
They don’t struggle and shove;
For beneath or above,
They’ve found their happy place
© 2025 Teresa Miles Kephart
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