At The End Of It All, What Will Remain? - Poem by William Jackson
At the end of it all, what will remain?
The garden will return to dry fallow ground,
and the brilliant scarlets and violets of the coral beans
I so thoughtfully planted near the downspouts
will fade into oblivion along with the purple sages.
The fiery orange reds of the pomegranates will wither
as the trees die out one by one. Even the southern magnolias
will stop producing the lemon scented white flowers
that have always turned black when curious little fingers
have willfully touched them, and sooner than later,
these same flowers and the trees will turn to dust
unless someone takes the time to acidify the soil
and give the roots long cool drinks.
More than likely someone will tear down the house too.
The highway or some other pressing necessity
will take precedence over the homestead and neighboring houses.
The shade trees will all be uprooted by bulldozers,
including the Texas Ash, the Mountain Laurels, a Red Bud,
and some Cedar Elms.
Will it have been enough that we loved each other
and raised two boys the best we could?
Will the world have become an even better place
for our boys and for all of humanity that follow in their footsteps?
How long will the seed of man continue to populate the earth?
No matter! Today I pulled weeds,
and I picked a yellow squash from the garden.
I boiled it with a bit of onion and added a touch of butter.
It tasted delicious with a sprinkle of salt and pepper.
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