Gnats in a swarming orb
Bright in a rising sun
Busy, busy, busy
It would appear
Swarming like the bus
I used to ride
Used to dread that
Comes by still, raising
Dust in the late summer
Dark silhouettes of the few
Kids inside, still, waiting
And the moles have been
At it all night—fresh lumps
Of dirt turned. Busy, busy
Busy it would appear
As autumn comes on
And the marigolds I planted
In spring mud, planted for
Two inches tall, bloomed
Now at three feet. Busy,
busy, busy till the seed
time, it would appear
And a chirping bird—
Only a glimpse of crimson
And a wet spider web
Waving in morning’s breeze
Busy, busy, it would appear
Bustling in the late summer
All this, my home once
Years ago, too many to count
Busy still, it would appear
As I wait, a silhouette
Still, waiting, it would appear
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All this, my home once
Years ago, too many to count
Busy still, it would appear
As I wait, a silhouette
Still, waiting, it would appear
The crimson bird slurped down a gnat or two and looked over at the merigold who nodded knowingly. The spider scrambled to the waiting edge of the web and noticed the mole had paused to relax in the soft soil.
In natural unity, they absorbed the sight of the Man Who Did Nothing. They waited for him to chirp or dig or weave gossmer patterns in the air. If a spirder could shrug, this one would have done so.
At once the silence was broken by his divinely melodious voice as he began poetizing for the joy of all who heard. It was at once a song, a lace-like offering and a brilliant blossom.
Ah, they all thought. Busy, busy, busy ... it would seem.
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