WHEN RAIN BEADS ROLL OFF LEAVES

WHEN RAIN BEADS ROLL OFF LEAVES

If each of those fat beads of rain rolled off those leaves,
what would the bleeding-heart offer for weary eyes
in the morning when sunlit dewdrops sparkle? Leaves.

Each foliate sprout should be reason enough for being.
Each leaf will, in the height of seasons before a late fall,
be spun-over refuge of spiders stalking cocoons

erupting into preening papillons, or fountainheads
for termite and weevils, slalom pads for ants, ladybugs,
and sieves for trickling sap: a whole universe of use.

O, how quickly the magic of spring turns into dry days,
when we wonder where the wood thrushes have gone,
their trill drowned by the banshee wail of rustling foliage.

—Albert B. Casuga
05-20-11

 Poetic Prompt:  "Each glaucous leaf of the bleeding-heart has rolled its rain into one fat bead. I'm wondering: where have all the wood thrushes gone?" Dave Bonta, Morning Porch, 02-20-11