[Jim Ramsey]

newest edit forsakes some of the the easy breezy adjectival iambs that end in Y and seeks concision.

picture of a mother opossum with joeys https://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl...Myg6egUIARDSAQ

The Opossum’s Daytime Visit [version 3]

The five eggs lay ruptured among maple leaves crumbling under the holly hedge. I laid down my pruning shears
and stiffly lowered knees to soil still holding winter’s cold to peer into shadows, spiny leaves, and angled twigs
and then to jump when beads of eyes in fur stared back. Lips lifted to bare needle teeth before, with a hiss of rage
or fear, the face pulled away. Then came a rake of mulch and a dawdling crunch of leaves until from the hedge’s
other end, an opossum limped and crawled. One withered leg dragged the neighbor’s missing trap by a broken
chain while on her spine five sets of disturbed riders’ eyes repined from figures no bigger than a child’s cupped
hand. The little joeys bumped along and gripped their mother’s fur after losing their chance at the robin’s clutch
of eggs—so goes the game of life when one foe falls and one still can stand. I picked up my shears and saw back
to many springs to reconcile this likely march of death by six more souls against the promise of those to come.

The Opossum’s Daytime Visit [version 2]

xxxxxThe five newly ruptured eggs lay scattered under lower limbs where the
mulch was thin and shreds of maple leaves still clung, disintegrating and
rotting on the ground still cold with winter leaving. I laid down my pruning
shears and kneeled on old stiff knees before the hollies to find the blame
that could be found, now looking for a nest and guessing at what harm I
might have done. At first, was only shadows, angling branches, held my
gaze. Then through a gap in the thickly bunched and spiny maze, I saw
a gray and furry face with beady eyes set back within the hedge, and jumped—
a face that seemed to stare back at me accumulating hate as it drew
farther back and tautened lips and showed its needle teeth. I heard a hiss
and spits made brave from rage or fear, a clawing rake of leaves and twigs,
a snap of jaws, and then I heard a fading, dawdling trek through crackling
leaves and sliding mulch until from the hedge’s other end, an opossum
limped and crawled, not looking back. It dragged one withered leg in the
neighbor's trap that trailed a broken chain while on her spine five sets of
disturbed riders’ eyes repined from a line of figures hardly bigger than a
child's cupped hands. The little joeys bumped and blinked and gripped their
mother’s fur, a set of five wee souls with thwarted intent to feed on five now
gone. I thought of life, I thought of death—how one thought so quickly slips
away and one so staunchly stands. I picked up my shears. My eyes felt dry,
no guilt, no tears, but empty, as I wondered first, whose soul would soon
replace an old and broken man’s, and next, this weakened mother's soon
to die along with five, and last, what newer six would come.

The Opossum’s Daytime Visit [version 1 edited to clarify that the N did not set the trap]

xxxxxThe five newly ruptured eggs lay scattered under lower limbs where the
mulch was thin and shreds of maple leaves still clung, disintegrating and
rotting on the ground still cold with winter leaving. I laid down my pruning
shears and kneeled on old stiff knees before the hollies to find the blame
that could be found, now looking for a nest and guessing at what harm I
might have done. At first, was only shadows, angling branches, held my
gaze, until through a gap in the thickly bunched and spiny maze, I jumped
at seeing a gray and furry face with beady eyes set back within the hedge,
a face that seemed to stare back at me accumulating hate as it drew
farther back and tautened lips and showed its needle teeth. I heard a hiss
and spits made brave in rage or fear, a clawing rake of leaves and twigs, a
snap of jaws, and then I heard a fading, dawdling trek through crackling
leaves and sliding mulch until from the hedge’s other end, an opossum
limped and crawled, not looking back. It dragged one withered leg in the
neighbor's trap that trailed a broken chain while on her spine five sets of
disturbed riders’ eyes repined from a line of figures smaller than doubled
fingers. The little joeys bumped and blinked and gripped their mother’s fur,
a set of five small souls with thwarted intent to feed on five now gone. I
thought of life, I thought of death—one thought so quickly slips away and
one malingers. I picked up my shears. My eyes felt dry, no guilt, no tears,
but empty, as I wondered first, whose soul would soon replace an old and
broken man’s, and next, this weakened mother's soon to die along with five,
and last, what newer six would come.