Last week, there were vast patches
of wildflowers
in the understory.
Now, a faint few hangers-on remain.
Next week, they’ll be but a memory–
a residue of consciousness,
a dying homage to the worthy memory
of their existence.
In ten years time, this florid story
will be gone to all.
Nature needs no selfies.
She changes states without concern
for legacy or posterity.
She is–
&
that’s enough.
By B Gourley in Poetry, poem, nature on September 11, 2017.
