Like a murmurartion of starlings
But without the graceful air
Flying around about the place
Without apparent care
Like a stream of desperate salmon
Swimming to get home
But lacking any instinct
In which direction they want to go
Like a stampede of mighty buffalo
That once roamed the American plains
But without any purpose
It just doesn\'t look the same
Like a flock of greedy seagulls
Fighting for some scraps
Pecking at each others throats
Unconcerned at who they snap
Like a herd of wary zebra
Alert to threats unknown
Ready to run the fastest
While the slow one\'s eaten whole
You see there\'s a purpose for every creature,
A nature that is true
And whether it is wrong or right
There is meaning in what they do
All except for human kind
Who are lost in every day
But there are echoes of it in what they do
Small reflections of nature\'s way