Grow,
and grow,
and bugs. And thirst.
An innocent stomp.
Hail, perhaps.
Nightfall with rest.
Warm morning sun.
New growth.
Thirst. And bugs.
More to overcome.
I survive and
bloom for the season.
A harvest.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
A Blow. A Harvest.
Labels:
acceptance,
appreciation,
conviction,
garden,
harvest,
healing,
living,
meaning of life,
overcome.,
poem,
poet,
poetry