WATERHOLE

Under whose microscope are we,
As we observe the amoeba?
How did it all come to be?
Life seems a case of amnesia.

A yell, a whistle, a shout, a scream,
Hanks of hair, pieces of bone.
Might have thought it was a dream,
But I see I am not alone.

Organisms, creatures so strange,
Living in a world of their own.
Reveling in a noise they exchange,
Or marveling over a stone.

Choruses of grunts and groans,
The phenomenon of sound.
Laughter, barking, sighs and moans,
The sounds of noise abound.

Standing in lines, standing alone,
Traveling across vast mud.
In an environment that has grown
Many an old blooming bud.

Infinities of varieties appear
Within each inch and mile.
In these bodies, stuck in here,
Stuck in time for awhile.

Boils and warts and who knows?
The list of words goes on.
Ankles and arms, feet and toes,
With space to live upon.

Oceanic birds and bumble bees,
In flight through space of air.
Men suck sap from humble trees,
All rare and beyond compare.

Within a species of prominence,
Applauding fellow cells in design.
Communicating a physical sense,
Existence beyond does resign.

Organisms from pole to pole,
Humans claim superiority.
Only animals at a waterhole,
When they sit down to tea.