The Queue Beneath The Tree To Pee

The Queue Beneath The Tree To Pee

They line up without a word being said,

A quiet agreement, a path gently led,

One by one in a patient line,

As if time itself has slowed its design.

No pushing forward, no restless sound,

Just paws placed lightly on common ground,

Each waiting turn with knowing grace,

Reading the moment, sensing the space.

The tree stands still, as it always has,

Watching them come, then quietly pass,

A keeper of habits, simple and true,

A witness to things we barely view.

There is something honest in what they do,

No hidden meaning, no changing view,

Just living the need, then moving along,

No right or wrong, no weak or strong.

We laugh at the sight, the neat little line,

As if such order is somehow divine,

Yet in their waiting, calm and clear,

There’s something human resting here.

Because we rush where we could wait,

We complicate what could be straight,

While they just follow what must be done,

Then wander off, their moment won.

Perhaps in that line beneath the tree,

There’s a lesson placed quietly,

That life need not be forced or fast,

Some things are better when they simply last.

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