The Leaves I Didn’t Rake
A wind arranged
The leaves I didn’t rake.
I find that possible to allow,
even the dark and dank,
the rotting richly Spring
worms and beetles,
the pure and clean
grubs.
Bugs,
they come in droves
some with wings.
On the wind!
Feasting consumers
undertakers, robbers
to the partitioned land.
I find it possible
to have them here,
close to my fingers,
after all, they are hard workers.
They are my fresh dirt-minglers in this
fallen blossom world
of withering and green.
Poem and Photographs by Paula McLean
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