Some walk through the garden of life
never seeing what is before them.
Always pushing onwards, seeking
an elusive, unreachable yen.

Others take their time on their stroll,
stopping frequently along the way.
Seeing the flowers and little bugs
blooming and crawling there each day.

The one who charges so quickly
forward does not hear the birds
calling to each other back and forth,
speaking volumes without words.

He does not see the young seedling
push up through the earth, slowly growing,
stronger and stronger it gets each day
till buds and blossoms are soon showing.

He doesn't stop to watch the caterpillar
crawling ever so patiently across the ground,
up, up, up it climbs to make a cocoon
and when the butterfly appears, he is not around.

When he finds that what he searched
for is not any place to be found,
the garden is wilted and withered
and silence is the only sound.

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