Soil

Soft dirt crumbles beneath bird claw,
An earthworm squirms, woefully
down the maw. In morning sun
With worm in jaw, a battle’s won.
This is nature’s law.

Quiet mushrooms creep, growing
along the stalk. They whisper, wilt
And whistle, but still they never talk.
They eat the matter of the beast
that once did rumble
In the face of death they feast,
Life is ever humble.

A jungle wakes as in first light,
No creature hears the breath held tight.
A lion in wait, who springs to claim
Through sinew he tears, flesh
without name.

That kinder creature falls from grace,
Its peers relent, and flee without trace.
Those smaller bones clean sharper
Teeth, weaker creatures
Born to eat.

As the moon falls
And the deer bleeds,
Saprotrophs do glee, and
Feast again. By sun’s rise
The soil will be rich
For planting done by Men.