My Limb

The sun ignores the leaves, while I tuck in the bough far above the ground.
The old limb moves gently, slowly in the breeze.
While I think of my life and how fresh I am.
I see the grass below in lazy gaze, with my hands tucked neath my chin, and those fluffy clouds, move past us all without a sound.
Nearest friend, on another heavy branch, he too is still, moving with his branch without a sound.
Dear God, this has be heaven, as the peace is deafening.