Your Little Home Is Enough ~ Poem

Big, yellow round morning sun,
Shining bright through the skies,
With mild heat caressing the skin,
Walking through the garden side,
Appeared on the gentle creature, shy. 

Our fault is that we have a house,
The creature only stead,
Not big enough to house a moth,
Yet we live in the luxury,
Complaining that we have nothing.

David Gonzales @pexels.com


Isn't it the same planet?
Isn't it the same wind?
Is there a different sun?
Or a different moon?
Why? The creature asked sternly. 


All the time I have complained,
My insufficient income,
Until I found the worm,
Who only live in the earth's crust,
What more are you waiting for?

Appreciate you little beginning, 
Times why you can sleep,
And breath a sigh of relief,
Though do not have all,
Be glad you have the best. 

Pixabay