The “Spring Lot” was three acres out southeast across the road Beyond the “crik” with minnows, frogs, the barnyard with its loads Some years we’d plant Sudan Grass, tall, billows, green, in waves In other years, we planted corn. Between the rows, dark caves Lairs, from which we’d “hide n’ seek” and hunt for dangerous game The rustling winds and dank dark earth held fears we couldn’t name The lot was close and in full view of folks from our front porch And through the trembling grass or corn, light flickered, as a torch One day I lay beside the spring in warm and tender sun And overturned a rock to watch the insects’ frantic run I pondered their perceptions in a world I couldn’t see And wondered if their eyes and minds could see that it was “ME” The “ME” who made the calls about their right to live or die I thought that this was how we were when looked at through God’s eyes And then I saw wild strawberries, a sweet and tangy taste And left that rock turned over, the insects to their fate I often think, if there be gods, they must be like a child Playing in a “Spring Lot” while we skitter, scared and wild They'll never know the why, the what, the wonder of our days 'cause all they see are strawberries and blithely move away