Scraps

When the end of the world comes, 

there will be me

  and nothing else.

the lawn will stretch out forever,

  the green, beautiful to see.

the trees, never drop a leaf.

A few weeks ago, I cleaned out my office and sifted through mountains of old scraps and notes, searching for anything that might be useful. The above is something I found on one and thought was rather good. It seemed like a proper poem to share on a Friday when the sky is shedding flurries and appears ready to shatter. (The photo is the farm I lived on for two years when I was five...also seemed fitting).