Sounds calling in songs
she sang while working in ground
that needed tilling.
Grass blends with the sun
to cover the soil, loose and
somewhat defiant.
Her feet press the grass.
The green pushes between her toes
in a knowing touch.
Springing up from rest,
blades of grass bend their eyes
from scandalous dirt.
It’s been ages since
the soil was a boulder, proud
and above all else.
Firm, untouchable,
he’s a rock, unbreakable,
worn to sand by rain.
Rain fell one thousand
years, raised the grass by the roots
while stones settled in.
Dirt and grass are the
wonders she dotes on daily.
Birds carry the news.
No one carries dirt
home in a fragrant bouquet -
maybe a bucket.
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