Simplicity is like a sycamore,
Quite nude and living weather to the core.
Its terseness speaks to me of skeletons
So tissue paper frail against the sun.
I count the bare bones of emotion's dance.
The glory and the pity of the circumstance,
Lifts us to the apex of poverty,
Where there is nothing but a need to be.
Though sunset is a thread upon the hill,
And dying light severely tests the will,
Just that we matter is of so much worth,
We scarcely notice that it costs the earth
Sandra Fowler
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/simplicity/
