Foundation

From a cat’s point of view there
is no down, yet this is hardly true
of mallards, those incautious fowl
foraging shores, preening between
bites, wading at dusk.  Nearby lies
the contented cat, twitching his
tail, purring delighted feline
words while morning light
treats the vanquished night
with fresh hors d’oeuvres.

A gaggle of geese employs the air’s
consistency, lecturers of public honk,
long-necked descendants
of the Mesozoic.
The cat, now asleep,
breathes in easy-going rhythm,
a contented omnivore complacent
to time’s ticking.  Life flashes
with more than the murmur
of integrity, brushing
vividly this canvas
of time.

Adventurous birthing knells
through eon’s cathedrals.
The living lend an ear,
serving as nature intends
with wing or paw or hand.
To Mothers go a permanent
memorial--upon their love
we stand.


30 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
5-8-16