With the helicopters whirring their pale brown descent,
and the squirrels purring in trees where they don’t pay rent,
the birds hop from the sidewalk to the trees,
wings propelling them on the white-blue breeze,
the drops hide in the clouds seeing that a day like this
shouldn’t be ruined by rain.
Bees dance the flowers to a nectar-borne climax,
the deer know the answers to questions I can’t ask,
and somewhere the groundhogs burrow for the frost,
I throw a beetle to the wind and know it won’t be lost.
There are jobs for the frogs, and work for the stinkbugs,
if we are so evolved, then where are the jobs for us?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A nice poem with good rhyme. Words and phrases are appropriate. An apt question at the end: if we are so evolved, then where are the jobs for us?