The fragrant peace is difficult to achieve,
The gong of time clicks,
to start a struggle,
struggle for the glorifying survival.
The wasp ready with its stings.
The eagle and the felidae with their claws.
The nectar is the victim,
piercing eyes, looking to grip the innocent mouse.
The bright sunlight aiding the struggle,
marking the end of the war of survival at sunset.
Birds returning to their respective camps,
like a retreating army.
The night’s stillness again preparing them,
to begin the struggle again,
when the sun showers his sparkling rays,
the dancing rays of creation,
the harbinger of struggle.
