The Order of Things

by Jim Tilley

They, the lowly, are bite-size nourishment

for birds watching in the canopy, none

elected or appointed to those lofty

positions, no grand design at play

in the forest, nothing but the normal

order of things until we clear the land,

construct new homes, seldom for the homeless,

but for those climbing to the top, always

bigger and better, robins aspiring

to become hawks, while the worms are consigned

to make it all work down there on the floor,

bring neatness to that world of natural

chaos, scrabble to restore the soil so

everything else can find a way to grow.