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George Lewis Avery

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i set the brake, shut off the gas
and let the engine die
then, with due respect to weariness
i evoke a lengthy *sigh*

i lean out from the tractor
drop heavy to the ground
tis a sparse shade where i have backed her
and my ears still drum with sound

what with the racket in my head
and the ringing in my ears
tis certain that when i m dead
i ll still be shifting gears

but just now that doesn t matter
not the daily endless grind
not the well intentioned chatter
of the over fed nor of the blind

once vibrant, this oak is dead
but it throws a welcome shade
and rotting leaves make for a bed
t'aint likely i'd ever trade

the while i lie i keenly hear
a june bugs heavy drone
birdsong, both far and near
and cicadas in the zone

the honeybee and humble
visit clover leaf and thistle
and my ear hammers stumble
o'er a bobwhites airy whistle

a red-bellied woodpecker, above
taps noisily at the tree
and the ever sad, sad mourning dove
calls quite longingly

nearby an industrious tumble bug
rolls his bounty to the bank
and black ants [like lilliputians] shrug
at this gulliver in their ranks

the pillbug, the fruitfly, the worm
they scamper, they hover, they squirm
a butterfly poses in lovely form
atop a viburnum

heavenwise, clouds lift sail
in a choppy sea of blue
where a passenger jet paints its trail
white on an azure hue

if i rise not, leave me lie here
amidst this industry
till none can ever dissever
my headstone from a tree

.oeg ©