Down to Earth

Standing on a golden shrub

And living on a leaf;

The center of the busy hub

The one whose joy's most brief

Hanging off a silver oak

And living on a stick;

Not to be the first to croak

Nor last to become picked

Leaning on a bronze pine

With a steady, sturdy trunk;

One has to look to see that shine

Some pass by it as junk

But sitting at the very base

Of any wood to choose;

I find the earth a better place

With much less left to lose.