Random Rescue

A random walk
round the garden.
A random fly
looking dead
in the bird-bath.
A grass-blade
plucked at random,
and placed,
in a random act:

Instant grasp
of six small lively legs.
Then, finding its feet,
it washes the front ones;
washes the back;
grooms its head,
and away it flies.

A random thought:
who cares
what lives,
who dies?

poem © Celia Warren 2012