Large trees prepare a canopy
which shades what’s on the ground.
Competitors for light complain
yet those preferring softer rain
give praise for what they’ve found.
Long sent beneath this canopy
I walk upon the ground.
It’s not my duty to complain.
I’m blessed with more than ample rain
and praise that I’ve been found.
Eugenia offers the word “canopy” for this week’s prompt.