As Noble as the Rodents

All of nature sprang
From that one frightful, impulsive,
Ever expectant spark of joy.
And ever since, it has been 
Doing what it pleased,
Delighting itself 
In that which suited it.
The owl hoo hooing
And the squirrels running too and fro
And the pigs sunning themselves in the mud.
Ever joyfully choosing their lot.
Only man
Does a thing out of duty.
Only man expects of himself
A thing that is more than his nature.
Only man deludes himself
Into believing that he is pleased 
With his captivity.
What are you, oh man
But a lesser thing than nature?
You serve a phantom,
And it has you springing up
At every corner 
And putting on your faces
And pretending as the day is long
And whoring through the night
Till dragging, scraping, dribbling down,
You drop into your grave.
But after death, perhaps there's hope,
Hope that you will rise
As noble as the rodents
Who at least have sense enough
To do a thing
Not for that which they will gain
But for the simple joy 
Of doing it.