By Rodney Koeneke
The bug’s psalm: don’t get crushed.
Afterlives feel meaningless
but spring will come,
push out the nubs
the kids braid into pallets.
Take up your pallet
from lawns noon’s hardly touched.
The small think gods
just loll on clouds.
Bugs think gods just crush.
More Poems about Nature
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I like the lady horses best,
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like running 40 miles per hour
is as fun as taking a nap, or grass.
I like their lady horse swagger,
after winning. Ears up, girls, ears up!
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It was like climbing a mountain to those of us who’d climbed one. To the others, it was like, I suppose, something else. In other words, we let everybody find her own figure of speech.
Not that it—speech—lay thick on the...