Reclaim

It must look silly from the sky,
The farms that fit like children’s blocks.
Lonely strips of trees that line
The bits of earth we think we buy
Serve perches for buteo hawks,
Describe my neighbour’s field and mine.
For years I went to seed these fields
And tried to take from all the edge
A little more field from the trees,
Thinking of one thing – my yields.
Soon the trees were just a hedge,
The standing forest buckled to its knees.
Those silly younger years I spent
Ripping the iron into roots
To change the grass from wild to tame,
To sow the seed of this lament.
Look, now the tender aspen shoots
Attempt their former glory to reclaim.

The Cause of and Solution to the World’s Problems

I have a boot that squeaks,
It has for weeks.
And everywhere I walk
It squeaks and squeaks.
I’ve tried to guise my gait
To make its talk
Take a different trait,
Maybe a squawk.
But survey what’s around,
Just take a peek,
The instances abound
Of things that squeak.
Most in fact are men,
A lying lot,
Squeaking from above
A Windsor knot,
Showing once again
How good they're not.
Whether he be a dove
Or be a hawk,
The next leader to speak
I’ll throw a rock,
And try to change his squeak
Into a squawk.