Nature’s Way

I came
I saw
I panicked…
Knee high grass and weeds in every space:
Not the best of welcomes
From my secret spiritual place.
I’m bound to make my peace with it
As Winter leads to Spring,
An annual cycle of reparation,
That digging, weeding, planting thing…
Rekindling childhood
I’m just playing in the dirt
Scrabbling on my hands and knees
‘Til all my muscles hurt,
Distracted by small creatures
The kind I once abhorred-
Until I understood their skills
And welcomed them aboard.
I’m rubbish as a gardener,
There’s no concealment there:
It’s clear the land’s no need of me
(I feel its despair!)
The Sisyphean task
Turning cycles immemorial
To weed and plant and plant and weed-
My effort’s immaterial,
Though knowing how I’m destined
Never to succeed
There’s something therapeutic
In pulling up the weeds.
Spiritually returning to a Free Child state
There’s no apparent limit to the mess I can make…
All quite legitimately covered as hard labour
With solitude and sun thrown in,
A little time to savour
The fresh air and the exercise
(An honourable intention)
And the way that Nature soldiers on
Without my intervention…


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