Email Poem

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Poem

I have a bet
with an old fig tree
in my backyard;
a bet as to whether
he will be out 
of the ground
before I am in it; 

not that we wish the other
a speedier demise, for there
is a strong fondness and
bound we share -- having fed
one another for many years—
I, on his figs and lustrous shade;
and he, on my careful pruning
and sensitive irrigation...both
of us, around harvest, receiving 
song-full praising from the 
many winged interlopers, and 
four legged sojourners of our 
opulent and thoroughly integrated 
community;

as to the motive for our wager
it is more tongue-and-cheek,
or bark-and...whatever --
reflecting the inevitable folly
of both our journeys…

below or above seems to make
little difference in the final 
revelation—sort of like, rich
vs. poor...we are all equal
to the Grim Reaper—Nature’s
totally, Politically Correct
Recycler….

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