OVER THE WALL
It is when we tumble over walls fencing us in
that we begin to learn that there is a garden
out there we have yet to explore, no rain
nor any scent of danger will stop us. We plow
on like that sodden woodchuck through our
own little plots and ask about that smell
of burning plastic wafting on a summer breeze
before it is too late to warn nestling neighbours
scavenging for scorched worms on brittle leaves:
the burning sky is falling.
that we begin to learn that there is a garden
out there we have yet to explore, no rain
nor any scent of danger will stop us. We plow
on like that sodden woodchuck through our
own little plots and ask about that smell
of burning plastic wafting on a summer breeze
before it is too late to warn nestling neighbours
scavenging for scorched worms on brittle leaves:
the burning sky is falling.
—Albert B. Casuga
08-03-11
08-03-11
Prompt: A sodden baby woodchuck plows through the dripping garden and tumbles over the wall. A smell of burning plastic on the breeze.---Dave Bonta, The Morning Porch, 08-03-11
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