When I am dirt, I hope
That little flowers grow in me
And once they are dirt, too,
We all will feed a little tree.
And when that tree grows big and strong,
And its roots push us aside
We’ll make a comfy place for mammals
To live and hide inside.
And someday when the woodsman
Cuts the tree down for his pay,
The rich food of its stump
Will speed more flowers on their way.
Or maybe tasty mushrooms will sprout
And grow in that damp shade
And they will feed the squirrels
Who upon that tree once played.
And when the squirrels and mushrooms
Have joined us in the sod
We can be a pretty field
Where human feet will trod.
And after their steady tread grows slow
Or falters until it stills
We’ll still have room for them with us –
Always have and always will.