I want praise for all the slow and small
among us: the lowly snail traversing
the garden’s edge, not in seconds,
like the streaky chipmunk, but with long,
laborious effort, each quarter inch made
a victory, avoidance of boot or blade.

I want praise for the premature nesters:
the wasp in its half-done mud-house
on a freezing night; those shut-eyed
bundles of huddled bunnies piled up
in burrows, unsafe from foxes, dogs,
my neighbors’ mowers and spades.

I want praise for the low to the ground.
the just under the ground, for those so
slow they have no chance on the ground.
It’s easy to focus on what flashes, what
soars in the skies. I want more praise,
please, for these unnoticed lives.

Judge’s Comments:
Another lovely lyric, praising small moments.