Almost a prayer - or: What is my job?

Every tree has a soul,
every flower, that grows,
every meadow, which greens
every river, that flows.
And even a stone
has a name of it's own.
 
A tiny flee
and the bumblebee,
each single blade of grass,
the swimming fish,
every humans wish
and the clouds filled with rain -
on earth we will remain
till the day we are called
to a land unknown.
No more question to ask,
no more suffer or frown.
 
The stars seem desireable,
and may be they are,
but a long way to go.
No one travels so far.
 
Only here we can breathe
on this precious ground.
The Mother of all -
she takes care all around.
My job left to do:
maybe rescue a bee -
as a matter of fact
nothing else bothers me.
 

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