Of Simple Things

how do the leaves
cling to the stem? look at them
the wind plays
and not one from the pebbles
dream of falling

the ants keep the hauling
the grasshoppers sing notes
to the sky
that looks down with out so
much sophistication
no streamers
nothing of the band
wagon type

of bare feet that rests
on soft white sands
of the straw hat that covers
the eyes
inward inward
there is really no complication
there is only
this chosen nook
and there one gently sleeps