I seem to spend my time,

Digging holes so deep,

So when I stop to sit and look around,

I cannot see the sky.

Or I walk for miles, an insignificant speck upon the land.

So when I stop to sit and look around,

I oft think it would be better if I were less,

Buried maybe, in the dirt beneath your feet.

There are things that rob me of my sleep.

In the night, my childhood sheep have fled,

Instead of counting in my head,

I weave a tangled web of half forgotten dreams,

And other things that never worked quite right.

But if I stop to sit and look around, before I dig or walk,

I can tease a single thread,

Free it from the snare of life,

And smile,

Because it is both beautiful and mine.