Keeping the footpaths clear

 Ferns are green again, soft,
gentle in the evening breeze
push aside the fading daffodils,
a blanket for their summer sleep
a  seemless cover from winter's cold
to summer sun and cuckoo.
All creatures busy with their worlds
rabbits burrow in birch tree roots,
badgers  deeper, undermine a larch,
(another fell last night)
its pale green buds un-open,
soon to lie beneath the ferns
there for summer months
home for myriad forms, a
frenzied life building for winter,
not so far away . . . . .
Twenty four  weeks . . . .that's all
Next month the ferns
will cover all the woodland floor;
I must call each day I can
to keep the footpaths clear.

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