Felled autumn leaves On wet ground For rot to work With welcoming soil Whilst winds blow Bringing the rain into it Tempting wiggle worms Which will reap The good nutrients left And give dark soil A velvet feel A rich man’s smell. For in the gardener Awakens a worker Keen to sow: And mature seed Will rise in bloom And stringed birds Serenade boon botany In la primavera All that is decomposing Rotting leaves Their yellow is gold Their black is carbon They’ve left behind Standing skeletons For kids to climb For sunshine to reveal What secret habits Autumns leave.
When technology troubles the tilling mind, And disturbed, the bearer searches history, Finding that a wealth of information Brings with it a poverty of knowledge. Screens need only be turned off, And mobile phones be de-batteried. And when some sunlight beckons, A walk or two could be taken, And head-phoneless ears Hear things never before heard.
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