Suddenly a bus ride doesn't seem so light
With the baggage it brings forth
The quick runs down memory lane
That leave you breathless
And wanting to stop and escape
But the road doesn't seem to end
An ever winding lane.
Like the unrelenting
pour of the rain
Yet it's only as gentle
or as harsh
as the weak mind wills it to be.
The ant scurrying along the forest floor
Busy storing up its stores
Gathering what it can find and what can be eaten
As I lay myself down and enjoy
The luscious greens of spice and life
And the constant chirping of the birds
That never sounds the same
That never irritates
And the unsettling of the leaves
As a breeze comes my way
Soothing me to sleep.
