While I was busy
Doing my busyness
Over taking
My competition
Nature was successively
Undertaking my previous busyness done
Supplanting my decomposing legacy
With crop worth feasting on
In treating me
As patience heel
Going
Won better
Nature calls
Barely distinguished from my sorry solicitations
Yet as summon to love
Plodding nature never climaxes
Nevertheless, it will undoubtedly come for me
In my ruin us substitute for vivaciousness
This poem was inspired by working in my backyard this Spring and being struck by how much nature marches on, particularly if you haven’t been paying that much attention to it for a while. The bulk of nature seems painfully slow compared to the fast-paced lives of highly evolved, huffing and puffing mammals that we call humans. 
Nature has a plodding patience that meekly, yet overwhelmingly, with grate irregularity to many, surmounts our well-kept yards and fields of concrete. There is a gentle awesomeness as nature unassumingly yields our very lives. Though, if we are too attached to sow called civilization, nature may creep up and out like that proverbial monster painstakingly slow but steadfastly only a step behind and foreboding. The veneer of our suppository importance is made bear as we do our busyness in the woulds of life. As we routinely pooh-pooh nature, nature brushes aside, as over bearing, such inattentive buy products. As nature’s patients, such hospitality and heeling is often times not welcome. Wile we unwittingly billed our own creation, nature rejuvenates with an irrepressible vivaciousness. Without won assent, nature secedes in making us hole. Perhaps it’s time to buy avowal or a singular consonant, that which would be, a whole.
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