Hard is the storm's howl
on the stalk's back,
Yet it stays still forever.
Not thinking, so probably
not Being anything too,
How is it possible for so little
to live this through ?
Cells and acids,
germs and genes,
a natural recepie
which let's blindthings see;
-reproduction under
the changing trees,
-evolution to suit
new needs,
-harder seeds.
Does it live. Does it know ?
Does it feel when it snows
Will it cry stalk tears
ounce a month at least,
when your sister betrays
that inner beast.
Just a simple stream stalk
and yet I wonder how
it does it.
How it holds the cold,
how it eats away the heat
how it accepts to grow old
and never fall down
to it's feet.
No brain
is the answer you'll say:
Nothing get's into it's way.
What a disapointment
I want
want
won't
Mosquitos, reindeers,
beetles,
moss.
A bit criptic: it's about nature.
