Oh Land of Green

Where the unique and mundane dance
What perchance can we predict?
The unique might prance their butt
The mundane... might strutt.

And the two in twain might never meet
Unless in silence you let them be
In silence that one destroys when speaking
And let them dance to heartbeat
Merging in menagerie... with silks drawn upon skin's flight

They caress, they kiss, they copulate
Mating... they populate
And when grey and their wizened flight takes wing
The World is glad it has company
Gaia is glad she has friends,
For she, too, is unique and mundane.
She too, in twain, needs meeting

And would observe, like you, in fleeting...
Would greet and smile and take flight, too
Would destroy the silence, just like you
With moans of pleasure, And screams of delight