By Susan Long
Here’s something new. Who wants? I ask.
Too much to learn, an arduous task.
Enthusiasm’s just not there.
I’d rather sip a drink and stare
at uninhabited vast land:
the veld, the sky and trees that stand
as silhouettes in filigree.
This essence of simplicity
invites a stillness in a mind
that’s wearied from the daily grind
of dubious activity.
How did a tree learn just to be?
A seed that sprouts some tiny roots
that burrow down and then up shoots
a stem and leaves, unfurling green—
contributing to nature’s scene.
From where I sit it’s all serene.
A voice says ‘Rot, how do you know
just what it took that seed to grow?
A raging fire crossed the earth
before that seed could sprout, give birth
to feeble little shoots and they
were nearly eaten on their way
by creatures from the huge to small
drought, floods and infestations—all
I struggled through to now stand tall.
Don’t for a moment think that life
of any sort is free from strife.’
Relax, unwind, sip gin and tonic.
Remember, though, life is ironic.