The First Mowing
by Marcel Aime Duclos

Until the day of the first mowing,
in the wild flower dotted meadow,

sparrows nested in still, safe comfort
in the company of honey bees.

Field mice scuttled in their soft, green world–
young ones unaware of the predators.

At daybreak, white-tailed deer ventured from
their forest home for the feast.

And now the mower rolls to the gate,
roars a warning of satanic smoke.

Haying season claims the meadows,
mercy absent on this cloudless day.

Deer are first to surrender the fields.
Mice shake to the tremor underground.

Bees, pollen-ladened, postpone till last
while sparrow families soon take flight,
their nests in tatters–paradise lost.



 

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