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.
Leave A Comment