Virginia Hamilton Adair, June, 1995
The palm said, "My clover is cool
around my bole, over my hidden roots.
My fronds clatter, crash
like waves in the far-off sea."
The insects cry in different voices,
"When the water comes,
we climb the clover to the pinnacles of safety."
The ducks speak in an ensemble
of piccolo, oboe and kazoo, "Now
there is water around the tree for our feet,
a banquet of bugs on the clover;
our beaks snap and gather the harvest,
crisp and squishy, legs and wings,
tidbits of flyer and crawler,
the last buzz in our bills,
the last tickle in our swallowing."
There are delights for all
on the desert morning when the water
is sidetracked from the Colorado.
Even the insects know
they have hidden their eggs well,
and their tribes will increase,
though they perish in the ducks morning meal.