In Envy Of Nature

 
Me, my dozen small birds,  
remembered Earth’s rose skirts  
all around a lichens stone bed,  
 
Before arranging seeds between  
tree branches, but by dark,  
doom took their darkness.  
 
Heard the insects’ kingdoms,  
of something among nothing  
as stars slept;  
 
So tenderly, white moths  
do better in  
luminous morning times,  
 
Who light fire pockets floated,  
breathing full on river water.  
 
She thought if they fell, and  
vanished back into night.  
 
At least I never had thoughts,  
grappling with Her perfect work.