Salad Days

the garden is a racket
of praise, worms whistling

through roots, tapping 

a jaunty compost tune

it’s delightful to hear

such industry at work

the soil echoing 

their anthology

of scrap, peddling

under the bedding

chanting grounds

shells, skins, shavings

these are salad days 

feasting on once

energetic flesh

serving to sing

and teach muscle 

and shovel, a song 

to make it 

abundantly clear

that no body 

goes unsung

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Open Link Night 397: Abundance