The chirp of phoebe wakes me at daybreak
while green grasshopper greets me at breakfast.
A woodpecker tattoos his pointy beak
into a black birch that will not long last
the rigor of harsh winter seasonal weather.
With autumn approaching, I’ll need to cut
a blizzard of logs, stack them up together,
check that the house stands snug, tidy, and shut
against whatever winter may offer
as landscape suffers inclement weather.
Television not Nature rules the day;
magazines boast how trendy models look
as bankers cheer the rise of Wall Street stock.
We are but dust on a planet of clay.