Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Her truth.

not soft petals crushed
by the unmistakable weight
or pounding rains

not unfurling tendrils
of diminutive growth
trampled underfoot

above a wind
then a calm

beyond dryness of drought
burnt by the sky
and past the fury
of what still stands
by design

not with brief scent
of an orange lily
or splintered sapling ghosts

but with nature's
force and fervor
and of the earth
from which they grow

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