deepundergroundpoetry.com

Mother God

Her earthy fingers touch where the ground is raw
from soaking heat upon the plain
where Adam is closed again, exhausted from working the land over.
 
She sits and waits in sand dunes for
this scorching ball to break upon the sky  
and rain to pour in sheets across the parched, midsummer fields.
 
Her heart it swells for long earned rest
watching Winter gales within her cocoon,
growing seeds upon her skin so to begin again.
Written by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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