Kyoujiro

The mynah returns to her nest and tucks

younglings under her wing.

Then watches the sun's tired descent

and with it allows herself some leave.

To be moved by light

may it wax or wane

is an instinct that first

tossed the dice of fate.

Perhaps because 

all living eventually return to earth

we turn to the sun

that alone, for all, grows.

The above poem is for the NaPoWriMo2021. Day 30. And with that, the last of my energy for this weekend is gone.