Soil

Crush of earth compacted,
suck of soil fulfilled,
dust is full created;
bed of life revealed.

Turn of clod and farrow,
dirt lays bare its face,
time in sandy marrow;
growth in darkest grace.

Seasons are the costume,
sun the roiling blood,
rain in fertile perfume;
nature’s perfect food.

Advertisements

About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s