The Little Sloth

The sun sinks low through the canopy green,
the quietest hour the forest has seen.

The Little Sloth, so calm and slow,
climbs a little higher, soft and low.

She passes vines that curl and sway,
tangled paths from night to day.

A howler calls from far away,
then settles too, done with the day.

A waterfall hums behind the trees,
its cool mist drifting on the breeze.

A red-eyed frog blinks, round and bright,
then tucks himself away for night.

A quetzal flies, all green and red,
then disappears where the sky turns to bed.

She wraps her arms around a branch,
her favourite spot for an evening's chance.

And now it's time, my little one,
to rest like she has, day is done.

Wrapped up warm and snug and tight,
Costa Rica whispers... goodnight, goodnight.