As Petals Open *** Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

I like that time,
the chill before the dawn
when dew still covers all,
and golden rays
highlight the spider's web
the one that's always torn
when first the farmer's wife
goes through the door
to get the morning's share
of eggs; each day the spider
builds anew, with patience
just to trap a fly or two.

I see the smoke rise now,
it re-ally is forest steam,
to me though 'tis a sign
that all the forest critters
have arisen from their sleep
and that the coffee's surely on.

I smile and visualise at once
my grandpa's face, the great moustache,
a Kaiser Wilhelm beard, 'twas called,
and now the first small squadron
of our honeybees alight,
to search the fields for sweets,
the rooster, shrill of voice, commands
that hens of pecking order status
get a move on, it is time he says,
a morning bath in dust and then
a little tête-à-tête inside the pen.

But I, backside at rest on soppy oak,
I watch the flowers, everywhere.
There always will be some
whose petals open with great care
yet with a pond snail's speed.
It is enough to keep me there
and reminisce.