Everything Is Gesturing Poem by Mark Heathcote

Everything is gesturing to me
From an autumn worm caster
To the February snowdrops
To the dancing bells of daffodils
Everything has a meaning of sorts
Whether it is that mad March hare
Running in concentric circles
Or a pastoral herd ringing bells
Or the April woodland bluebells
Whether it be a blue dragonfly
Pivoted on a slender bulrush leaf
Or a meadow full of mayflies
Everything has its place and purpose
Nothing is ever lost in my eyes
All things have their significance
Whether it be a burrowing-red ant
Or a bumbling fat hairy caterpillar
It doesn't take clairvoyance
To say they all truly matter.
It doesn't take a genius to say that
One without the other is lesser.