LIGHT AS A FEATHER

“How does it feel to be a guinea pig?”
An old hobo, he did once ask of me.
It was dawn, the morning sun was rising.
Up all night, in a city park, were we.

On a sidewalk inside New York City,
We were much like mice, inside of some maze.
Wandering all around, as we hung out,
We stumbled about, as if in a daze.

We had a hard time comprehending it,
Even though it was clear for us to see:
We did not plan a life upon this earth,
But that is exactly what came to be.

It has been said, “Judge not, lest you be judged.”
One and all, we are in this together.
As each one must carry a heavy load,
Our existence is light as a feather.