Recycling Sounds Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

All seemed serene in woodland scene,
ant teams, sunbeams, spread out,
and yet, unseen, Fate forged break clean,
worked from within without
a doubt as time beat time with time
to pass from ph[r]ase to ph[r]ase
assisting rhyme on onward climb,
ensuring reader stays.

Some squirrels frisked with tails well whisked
from tree to tree, perch, perch,
fur fair and bisqued, as nut search risked
spring lurch from beech to birch.

All seemed content, on life intent,
scent framed by sunset's flame,
as if time spent forever meant,
which wildness would not tame.

Four foxcubs crept while vixen kept
an eye alert and sly,
two hedgehogs slept, - all calm except
some fly swept swifly by.

Green lizard leapt, stagbeetle crept,
dust filled the air in just
a trice none wept when down tree swept,
thrust by untimely gust.

Dank fungus tossed, moss counted cost,
as trunk came tumbling down,
birds, flustered, flew from leafy pew
as branches struck the ground.

Bright butterfly, buzz bees awry,
swarmed from high nest wild swung
avoiding harm, though none were calm,
hums angry drones begun.

There was no bliss, no parting kiss
when tree from root split, Crack!
no adder lisped an added hiss
as after shock waved back.

The sound it made forever stayed
within the forest glade
that sound 'afraid' spelled out, dismayed
a moment as tree paid
the tribute due that life owes to
all other life around,
when something new must flourish too:
upon which we'll expound:

Time's tide destroys all equipoise
from Peter steals, pays Paul,
whatever ploys the first employs
strength peters, keels, then pall
what once was head enshrouds instead
as crown comes tumbling down,
so one once led stands in its stead
as emperor or clown.

Life from Death knew to take its cue
as cycles spin around,
one bids adieu while where it grew
another springs unbound.
Thus all evolve as we revolve
round central sun which spins
in turn to solve or to resolve
the questions no one wins.

For mouse and man so seldom can
stump up a rich reply
which well can scan of house and plan
the 'how, when, where and why.'
Well may we ask who, lazy, bask
beside life's swirling sea,
why must life's flask need Death's dark mask
how come this comes to be?

Years' tears revolve as niches evolve,
test, protest limits: we
who problems solve, in turn dissolve,
recycling guarantee
so each in turn may sunlight earn
so future that should be
plays out its term, to squander, learn,
to spawn, to spore, seed free.

Trees, starting small, rise tall, then fall, fulfilling destiny,
whose constant call stays on the ball in perpetuity
so all that would flows as it should, through struggle to the skies,
throughout the wood, takes what it could
from life, until, Time's yarn spins spill - it dies.