<p>Twisting, writhing, slithering out of view <br />The bough meandered purposefully<br />Playing hide and seek with the cloudless sky<br />Obscured by an inquisitive primate<br /><br />As she crouched on a fragile-looking branch<br />Her delicate, expressive face tense with anticipation<br />And wide brown eyes lost in the furrows of her forehead<br />Her long, flexible tail began to quiver<br /><br />While the rest of her body lay still.<br />Then she began to swing;<br />Her powerful arms swinging her sinewy body <br />From one elusive bough to another,<br /><br />Almost effortlessly. <br />The bough continues upward- <br />Branching into millions, or so it seems,<br />Each ending in a microscopic point,<br /><br />Tastefully garnished with dark, open leaves.<br />A bird, a lowly baby pigeon, <br />Dyed with tints of blue and grey,<br />Peers furtively from his perch,<br /><br />As his mummy eggs him on,<br />To unfurl his nascent wings.<br />He surveys the world around him; <br />The sky is vast, crisp, overly frigid, <br /><br />And he decides he’s not quite ready to fly.<br />Ants scurry purposefully in single file<br />Along the contours of the ancient, knobbly birthplace of the bough;<br />Their movements robot-like, mechanical and resolute.<br /><br />Our lives pass within the blink of an eye<br />Quick flashes of light in the archives of time<br />But the bough lives for an eternity, forever and ever<br />Twisting, turning, meandering and coiling <br />Through the yawning depths of time.</p>
<p>Twisting, writhing, slithering out of view <br />The bough meandered purposefully<br />Playing hide and seek with the cloudless sky<br />Obscured by an inquisitive primate<br /><br />As she crouched on a fragile-looking branch<br />Her delicate, expressive face tense with anticipation<br />And wide brown eyes lost in the furrows of her forehead<br />Her long, flexible tail began to quiver<br /><br />While the rest of her body lay still.<br />Then she began to swing;<br />Her powerful arms swinging her sinewy body <br />From one elusive bough to another,<br /><br />Almost effortlessly. <br />The bough continues upward- <br />Branching into millions, or so it seems,<br />Each ending in a microscopic point,<br /><br />Tastefully garnished with dark, open leaves.<br />A bird, a lowly baby pigeon, <br />Dyed with tints of blue and grey,<br />Peers furtively from his perch,<br /><br />As his mummy eggs him on,<br />To unfurl his nascent wings.<br />He surveys the world around him; <br />The sky is vast, crisp, overly frigid, <br /><br />And he decides he’s not quite ready to fly.<br />Ants scurry purposefully in single file<br />Along the contours of the ancient, knobbly birthplace of the bough;<br />Their movements robot-like, mechanical and resolute.<br /><br />Our lives pass within the blink of an eye<br />Quick flashes of light in the archives of time<br />But the bough lives for an eternity, forever and ever<br />Twisting, turning, meandering and coiling <br />Through the yawning depths of time.</p>