A warm, spring, sunny stroll in the park,
the air abuzz with freshly bloomed beauty,
I tread a perfectly manicured trail.
I see a woman ahead of me
Listen- she scoffs. Disgusted.
She kicks something toward the grass.
Pity- a worm, writhing in agony,
covered in ants. Its body screams
in jagged, jolted protest.
A mother Jay mourns above me.
Her baby fell from her nest. It drowns
in the green sea. Ants crawl to it as it gasps.
I think of springtime- its vibrance
nurtured by bones of birds and flesh of worms.
An all-consuming beauty
I continue on the trail, the grass sprung from
the life it took. And I wonder what flowers
will lie on my grave when I’m gone.
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