"leave a piece for me" | poetry


"small and bare 

let your hands fall where they may,

let the farmer sow his seed

new growing things spring from ditches and empty fields

leave a bit on its own - you never know what may come

earth -- sod turned and sifted. When will you give it a chance?

it isn't dead, though brown and grey and dry

broken things grow the tallest trees 

give a turn to budding roots

rays and streams from grey skies

tread soft, speak low


the earth has won its war

shoots and blossoms broken through 

and ivy gathers for the girl with the crooked smile."