Field Maple

Field Maple

Field-maple seed, with twin attached
so silent whirrs, on autumn breeze
and slowly earthward progress makes
away from parent trees.

Touching down it comes to rest
among the upright blades of grass
and nestling closer to the soil
awaits my foot to pass

Delicate wing so soon decays
as Winter water wets the earth
and foot-fall comes and presses seed
to find a place of birth.

When daylight lengthens after snow
seed case splits, root downward probes
and shedding case with upward thrust
reveals two unfurled lobes

Now the time of greatest danger
grazers teeth or mower blade
but fallen branch provides new shelter
first year leaves now fade

Second spring the whip is taller
standing higher than the sward
proudly bearing leaves palmatum
thrusting heavenward.

The branch is moved, the sapling spotted
trowel uproots and lifts it clear
the end of Maple's fine endeavours?
never need to fear.

With care the the sapling is replanted
In a hedge-gap by the lane
and safely there, the maple starts
the cycle once again.

Not many years before the maple
showers seeds with coupled flights
and spreads it's progeny to leeward
small green whirling kites.



©Rob King 2013

Gardener

With strokes deliberate and slow
the gardener displaces weeds
that in between the onion row
would run amok and and cast their seeds.
The weeds are pretty on their own
it's just that here they're out of place,
the seedlings grown for food will drown
'neath mantle green, without a trace
And thus, the hoe will cut them through
and root from soil be surely drawn
to wilt beneath the springtime sun,
sure death before the morrow morn.
The pity is that, if allowed
the weeds would grow to flower full;
the pheasant's eye and pimpernel,
cleavers, crucifix, dead-nettle.
each in it's place a pretty plant,
indicating healthy soil
but just for being where it is,
the gardener will surely spoil.
And so adjacent to my rows,
the ranks resultant of my toil,
I like to leave, just for the weeds,
untended, careless, virgin soil.





© Rob King 2013