DRAB

       That gray and brown junco

crouching plain as sand in the

winter-nude branch of the quince

never gets the compliments.

I mean, really, who ever says

“Your being drab is so lovely”?

Bindweed, the morning glory:

you dig and toil to rid your garden of it.

Do you ever see how glorious it is

all on its own, it’s pale and artful face

revolving to the sunrise?

Those small tan slugs sliding

through the strawberry leaves:

I bet you never thanked them 
for their thoughtful
recycling of organic matter.  Earth does.

See the junco in her shaded perfection.

Marvel at the bindweed in its unfolding.

Thank the slugs, for they remake the world.

J. Pratt-Walter, © 2019