A Natural Scene

Beneath a bed of ferns lie acorns low,
Awaiting Spring and songbird shouts,
To tear a new life from buried sleep
From a bed of dead but warming hands.

"Nothing quickens unless it dies" said Paul
The fool; it sleeps and dreams in cycles green.
The World is green in truth and law,
The land itself is still and tumbles.

Nothing stops the turning wheel of life
A single oak is sick, it dies and falls
To ground, planting homes for crawling things
That feast; the dead's not dead, it dreams.

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