To Each His Own

I could feed two deer
With the Oxalis
That came up almost overnight,
Mused the Poet.
Such a luscious carpet
Beneath the trees standing,
Bereft of all their leaves,
Silhouetted against the grey winter sky

Come, little bees,
Cried the Oxalis,
Opening its petals even wider.
Come, drink my bountiful nectar,
A luscious mid-winter feast.

Bah, said the White Cat.
She talks about a blanket,
A blanket of damp green plants.
I prefer to lie on her cozy white robe
Reminding me of my mama
So long ago….