Look beneath your feet

This is where life grows

You are the daughter of no one

Except the soils, you are the soil

Chaffed, a sediment of ephemera


You are what remains,

From your father’s ribs

Child, you ordain seeds

Zenith of all that’s made

Take time to smell the roses


Do not mystify the past

Loan daylights savings

To wake your spirited eyes

Shape it into a statuette

For your hay-days, child

You are the soil’s womb

The beginning of the last word

Chaffed, the sediment of time.