The Way of Things

[couchgrouch]

The Way of ThingsThe hill was wild with grassover that farm dog's bonesand old man Johnson's mulepulled hard through mud and stoneand when she did her choreshis wife would seek out shadeand wonder in short poemshow blood is mixed and madefor rivers polish rocksbut rain turns tin to rustlife's worth its weight in golddeath's worth its weight in dustwind is always patient when it huntsit won't take autumn leaves all at onceand this world has a sly, gentle wayof taking life day by tender dayshe wrote how beasts survivewith feather, fur and finand if man masters his mindonly time can master himbut good plans suffer fateand wise men suffer foolsworthless hearts follow wealthand farmers follow mulesso one thirsty sundownby Johnson's old brick welltoil took its toll on himand he tolled midnight's bellswind is always patient when it huntsit won't take autumn leaves all at onceand this world has a sly, gentle wayof taking life day by tender dayin that cold silver dawnof tears and sweat and fogshe buried her poor mannext to their faithful dogthough she'd planned to carvea poem in his behalfsometimes a grassy patchrhymes the best epitaphit's silent things that sayall circles come to passthat hill feeds his sad mulecool evening meals of grasswind is always patient when it huntsit won't take autumn leaves all at onceand this world has a sly, gentle wayof taking life day by tender day(c)2004 Robert George