A caterpillar in a jar,A mystery.Such an odd soundThe pink, ponk, punk Holes being poked in the metal lid.Leaves will do for food;A stick to climb.Her mind wondersWill this worm Build a cocoon? When? How? Why?
A Bug’s Life
Just Like
Pecan pie just likeGrandma used to bakeFlaky crust, custard just likeMama always madeToasted pecans, syrupy sweetJust like—home.
Amish
Wagon wheels roll on by While time stands still Progress stymied by religion Dressed in Black and blue cloth Under heat-saving black felt hats Sun shielding bonnets and Newly-woven straw hats Big-eyed boys and babies Out for an afternoon ride Watch the world as they go past.
