James Mclain Poet Lyric

Putrescine

The Quiet keeps a little Door—
No Mortal sees it Swing—
Yet every Rose that folds its Silk
Knows well the hidden Thing—

A Fragrance—not of Orchard fair—
Nor Clover, kissed by Noon—
But Earth's own solemn Covenant
Beneath the Harvest Moon—

The Lilies do not chide the Dust—
The Robin stays his Hymn—
For Life resigns her borrowed Breath
To Chambers faint—and dim—

What Men would name Corruption's Trade—
The Meadow whispers—"Grace"—
Each Falling Leaf becomes a Star
In some forgotten Place—

If Putrescine should wear a Crown—
'Tis woven not of Shame—
But of the patient Chemistry
That gives the Soil its Name—

So Death—who keeps no jealous Purse—
Returns what once was given—
And every silent Molecule
Still keeps its Road—to Heaven.

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Paige Hind June 28, 2026 at 9:17 PM I never heard of this element in all living things! you have taught me something important, it's so beautiful and ironic "So Death—who keeps no jealous Purse— Returns what once was given— And every silent Molecule Still keeps its Road—to Heaven"