Moods Poem by Michael Arnold

The weather has nothing to do with mood.
When I was young, I would, on a hot day
Rest a caterpillar in my palm; it would happily
Crawl around, never swearing or making noises
Of discontent. The same could be said of ladybirds.
They would languish contented until a flower
Caught their attention.

Humans are not a bit like that. It's either too hot,
Too cold, too wet or too dry. We are the world's
Complainers, rarely happy with anything or anyone.
I wonder why we are here? Is it to eat everything
Else on the planet or is there a plan we are not privy
To yet? Perhaps when this genetic experiment has
Run its course we will find out.