Soil

an early morning coffee,
an early morning walk
what journey shall we go on?
what fruit shall we pluck?

the wind blows the seeds
that we cast without regret
with hungry eyes we dig
our toil’s not done yet

dirty worms writhing
shifting through the mud
fingers twist and turn the soil
until the time has come

the wind blows the seeds
that we cast without regret
with hungry eyes we dig
our toil’s not done yet

seeds in hand he steps aside
throws them to the wind
lets them find their home
lets them rise again