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Earth is writing herself into poems,
For poetry is what she feels within her deepest being;
And all the emotions of her mind are seasons,
And being so large and slow moving,
Her emotions pass only very tediously;
So that it takes many months
To complete the shift from hot and voluptuous
To thin and chill.
Earth hides her poetry in flowers and birds,
In clouds and rain showers.
Earth buries her words in soft soil
And tumultuous waves.
Her vocabulary so beautiful by now
She never has to erase a single line.
Wherever earth weeps, new growth springs up
In compassion, to cover over the old scars.
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