The swallows and sparrows
dance on the cool morning breeze.

They rise and fall;
         float and stall;
         soaring, diving, fluttering
and all the while chattering—
         not about days been,
         nor days to come—
         but the present moment;
         their current joy.

They trust the sun to rise at dawn,
the moon to appear in the even cooler twilight air.

The swallows and sparrows
      (dancing as they do on the cool morning breeze)
worry not about tomorrow—
for today will have troubles of its own.

Upon a dale of dandelions
running his tongue 'tween stems and leaves
to pluck the carpel
tunnel
syndrome of nectar.
Pollinating without any bird
or bee
paying the slightest
attention.