A Poem

Breaking the womb with glee,

sprouting with brisk bark,

tasting the pungent silkiness of milk.

Skipping through the snapping fields of seasons,

savoring every scratch and sniff from prickly grasses,

finding riches when jumping in mucky rain puddles.

Laying in a thousand satin sheets,

still not grasping the true fruits of catching gold,

we only see light under the comfort of soil.