There is a little vegetation in the desert - nothing consequential, just some nameless unremarkable shrubs ordering the landscape like infants suckling on an empty breast.
How I wish instead I could cover these sterile sands with life: grass and roots, the slender stem of the dandelion, and the gifted clover (that eternal music of my deeper self)
How I wish instead I could spread my love over these hostile lands - and like the herald of a solstice sow the seeds of the harvest.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: May 2010
About this poem:
I wrote this when things got real bad! Looking for a way out into something new.
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