“It is, a different kind of fun, hanging there, under, the bright sun, but then again, I don’t like to run”
Gun Roswell

Under, the palm tree leaves, I sleep

The warm winds, gently, heaved, above me, in the tall palm tree leaves
As I laid under there, in the dark shadows, looking up, only to see
The sunshine, now curiously peeking, as if for something, it had to seek
Or then it was just me, being, once again, that one special kind of a geek
As I was conjuring up, all kinds of scenarios, where the very sun, was a being
From another world, with an agenda, and some sort of a ransom, and then chasing
All us, lowly humans, here, on the planet Earth and because of just that, making
Us, to go to permanent hiding, from those ever vigilant and ever searching
Rays so brightly lit, it was becoming more and more difficult, in the shadows to fit
But, for me, the gentle, caring and soft cover, of the tall and ever green
Palm of a tree, provided all the cool shelter, I could possibly ever need