deepundergroundpoetry.com

Cobwebbed

dirt has a way of mending
filling up a broken pot of clay
breaching anxious minute layers
allowing ruins to be washed away
 
no miracles here in the making
small seeds coming out to see
sun succumbing in her pantheon
sprouting dahlias  
more beautiful
than any ordinary weed
 
she grows

out past the cobweb
where dewdrops have laid their dead
cutaneously and imbibitiously
germinating amid german graveyards
racing aloud
pleasantry

she rests
 
n'er wilting nor wondering
tiptoeing while wandering
in the deluge of the day
Written by JusTim_
Published
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