can i write anything
about an opossum
   that stunk
until i found it
dead curled up
under a gas meter
protectively tucked
in a posture to try
hiding away from death

i could try
honoring the days
it spent performing
marsupial tasks
   valiantly
or with diligence
in its span of time
her parental skills
to carry on the race

but as the gardener
whose loyalty belongs
to the candy tuft
growing on the rocks
   this little beast
is destined for more:
years of turning in
to the soil which feeds
a new cascade of white
   blossoms in
all the Springs to come