IN A NUTSHELL
In a nutshell, I am leaving,
Though I know not how or when,
But gird your loins for battle
As below I do descend.
Back to the muddy ground for compost,
The tattered earth for recompense.
Back to the muddy ground for freedom
And sweet forgiveness for past sins.
In a nutshell lives the soul of the squirrel,
Who hunts and gathers for the winter,
Counting up the days and weeks
With a bevy of acorns puffing his cheeks.
Life arduous and precarious,
Surviving by wit's end, dodging the speeding cars.
In a nutshell his life is nasty and brutish
And quite a lot like ours.
The dreary, draining life of men
Who rise each day to labor to support their starving kin,
Only to rise tomorrow to do it yet again.
In a nutshell I am leaving, by grace or by divine design,
As downward I do slow descend
Like a coal miner trapped in his deadly mine.
Back to the muddy ground for compost,
Nourishment for the worms.
This world has been a gracious host
And now it's someone else's turn.
In a nutshell I am leaving, but do not cry for me.
Just dodge the squirrels as you drive.
May peace be yours, and tender mercies.
-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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