Earth Contact

Under the sun I gossip with the grass


And its shadows show,


As I lend an ear for jazz,


Played by the black crow.


Then with my eyes, I flirt with the tree


For it may be a sin,


To stare at whats free,


And want to dive in.


Then wind brushes my lips


And they began to go dry,


For water I need to sip,


Which is water I need to cry.


But if my senses know nature,


I am only a creature.