Nature
doesn’t keep its lawn.
Scattering
seeds hither and yon.
Letting
the birds and animals do their doo.
Fertilizing
the next generation to peek into view.
Or,
borne on the wind, flying so far.
With
no help at all, a falling star.
To
take hold and grow, whither it may.
To
bask in the light of a new spring day.
Only
to face a daunting task.
How
to grow tall and reproduce--to last.
Like
the knarly root of a knarly tree.
Clinging
to life on a knarly knee.
Of
rock so barren no soil will stay.
And
yearly rain falls just drips away.
And
still she clings a thousand years.
Through
earthquakes, lightning, drought, and fears.
Or
fight for the light, in a forest dark and deep.
Only
the tall and the strong will ever peep.
The
unfiltered light above the canopy.
The
eagles’ lair where all can see.
And
in the struggle, the strong win out.
And
beauty is the final result.
The
unkempt lawn of nature’s lair,
Is
beautiful beyond compare.
Copyright 2001 © Ronald W. Hull
3/31/01