Nuthatch head-down on the fence
Is of no great consequence.
Neither does devotion matter
In the sea of constant chatter.
Earthworms working underground
Have no impact, so I’ve found,
When a pound of granular
Fertilizer goes so far.
Sweet devotion of my dogs
Can’t compete when TV flogs
All the latest means of grace
With which none of us keep pace.
Melody and pitch cannot
Charm us like what we have bought,
Nothing’s good but it must be
Brand-new, best, and never free.
Listen hard, though–it’s still there:
Sweetness carried on the air.
Birdsong, scent of healthy soil,
Crows’ wings shining like black oil.
If we can be still and quiet,
Peace is here; we need not buy it.
Happiness comes free, abounds
Off our culture’s money-go-round.