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Posts Tagged ‘Compost’

.

If you must choose

be not the rose

nor the wintering compost

but rather the seed,

the capsule that knows

beginnings and endings

are the sacred vines

which weave immortality.

.

.

(c) 2013, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

.

(a re-post, revised)

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.

She burrows under

leaves and twigs

slides past thorn

and nettle

chews through

her own roots

to mate with worms

where the soil is dark

and sweet.

Earth fills her ears

with lullabies

and she sleeps

sealed

in tomorrow’s rose.

 .

(c) 1992, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

.

(a re-post)

 

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.

If you must choose

be not the rose

nor the wintering compost

but rather the seed,

the capsule that knows

both beginning and end

and weaves everything

in between.

.

.

(c) 2013, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

Read Full Post »

(a re-post from last August, revised)

.

I burrow under

leaves and twigs,

slide past thorns

and nettles,

chew through my own roots

to mate with worms

where the soil is dark

and sweet.

Earth plugs my ears

with lullabies

and I sleep

sealed

in tomorrow’s rose.

 .

(c) 1992, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

Read Full Post »

Compost

Compost

.

I burrow beneath leaves and branches,

slide past thorns and nettles,

chew through my own roots

to mate with worms

where the soil is sweet

and dark.

Earth plugs my ears

with hot lullabies

and I sleep

sealed in tomorrow’s rose.

~ (c) 1992

Read Full Post »

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