Mulch
Approaching the park, I smelled a smell;
My senses knew it rang a bell.
A whiff said pine, a Christmas scent
But Christmas came and Christmas went.
And then I saw a giant pile,
A pile of mulch, which made me smile,
For every single chopped-up tree,
I’m certain, had a pedigree
And decorated someone’s room
With ornaments and tart perfume
And gifts beneath the branches piled
To thrill each woman, man and child.
Yet once discarded, all that pine
Still serves in Nature’s grand design,
To feed the soil and fill the air
With fragrance quite beyond compare.
Copyright © Ilene Bauer | Year Posted 2014
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