The grass beneath a tree is content
A squirrel holds an acorn in its praying hands,
offering thanks, it looks like.
The nut tastes sweet; I bet the prayer spiced
it up somehow.
The broken shells fall on the grass,
and the grass looks up
And the squirrel looks down
I have been saying “Hey” lately too,
Formalities just weren’t
Jalaludin Rumi (1207-1273)