Everything Is Gesturing

Everything is gesturing to me From an autumn worm caster To the February snowdrops To the dancing bells of daffodils Everything has a meaning of sorts Whether it is that mad March hare Running in concentric circles Or a pastoral herd ringing bells Or the April woodland bluebells Whether it be a blue dragonfly Pivoted on a slender bulrush leaf Or a meadow full of mayflies Everything has its place and purpose Nothing is ever lost in my eyes All things have their significance Whether it be a burrowing-red ant Or a bumbling fat hairy caterpillar It doesn't take clairvoyance To say they all truly matter. It doesn't take a genius to say that One without the other is lesser.