creation
never forgets,
its destiny
ever fulfilled...
a lesson beheld
in the seedling
bursting through
the midst of
a garden adorned;
nature undeterred
by the squirrel's
forgotten love affair
with an acorn.
though oft beyond
our given years,
in its own way
nature fulfills,
always rewards,
life cheating,
outliving death...
a Picasso returned
from coveter’s theft,
a truth uncovered
for children bereft,
and calm that follows
the fury’s storm.
for spawning salmon,
for migration’s bird,
on Serengeti’s plains
the herds return;
the lover’s heart
longs for home,
to know fulfillment,
to taste once more,
the fruit of promise,
a table replete,
hope restored,
a circle complete.
Post script.
Running out the door this morning I watch a squirrel dashing into the flower bed to bury perhaps it's final acorn of the year. I chuckle, knowing next spring a random oak seedling will sprout amongst the flowers, a tribute to one of Mr. Squirrel’s forgotten, buried acorns... which prompts this poem about the circle of life; and for at least a moment, the season’s melancholy is broken.