My beginnings are rooted in that of all of my kind
Air exhaled by the rich and powerful has entered my lungs
Ground traveled by the craven and courageous soils my shoes
Blackened skies bathe us all in outpourings of moisture
The crow's protestations, the mosquito's irritations know no boundaries
Spring grass tickles many toes, warm sun alleviates chill on bourgeois or beggar
And the North Star, as that of my ancestors, hangs like an ornament
An antediluvian jewel on all of humankind's celestial Christmas tree
Yet, the equality of our conceptualization ends as seed becomes sapling
Cashmere vies with cactus amidst swirling textures of existence
And the path to our ultimate destination is littered with both mirth and morose
Am I to be faulted for asking why the billowing cloud shades some and not others?
Or shall I be commended for the audacity in simply asking...why not?
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