Thursday, June 09, 2011


set to write good of them, i was,
cause hard workers they are.
first up early, feed the kids.
even give them lessons when they’re out.

always up at dawn, retire by dark.
mid day one'll sail in to sit and stare.
tween times sitting to think about the day,
waiting, staring at me, doing nothing.

then when i mow my heart grows cold against them
for i see the yard torn up here and there where
those hoppy bobbing, worm searching peckers
haven't replaced their divots.