Most of all
For the lichen
But the years of consciousness
I could count
In just an afternoon
And my own years
Rattled off in seconds
In the vast pre-history
Of consciousness
This beauty unremarked
But do my remarks
Or those of others
Make the beauty so?
Then wonder why why why?
Can’t we find a way
To share our world today
Like me
Like orange
Not range
Not fringe
Not forage
Nor porridge
Though all tinker with
The tongue and the ear
The elusive rhyme
The elusive me
Laws which I do well to heed
If my art is to succeed
Nature I do not exploit you
Nor wrest the brushes from your hand
It’s not my mind to alter your decision
But offer you my humble vision
Before my eyes
Where nothing is
Just what it seems
Since what it seems
Is in my mind
“Ahhh!”
He theatrically intones
Before another whistling breath
“Smell that fresh air!”
Musky dung beyond barbwire
Making us gag
As we pass his home
In a small development
Surrounded by farmer’s fields
“Mr. Abbott!” sang the chorus