Mother Earth

We will hear her whisper,
The soft rustles of her towering corn stalks in fields
Soft speech much crisper
As we open her ears to hear yellow tales of yields.

We will feel her skin
In the layered dry dirt and course quartz that surrounds us
Her true topsoil thin
And mottled with her rough rusty rouge reds that ground us.

We will see her eyes
The hues of unfolding rainbows that she will merit
Looming; land to skies
As she centers whites with blue irises no one will inherit.

We will smell her girth
In that of her powerful pungent pouring of rains
The sweet scent of birth
And the wafting of the brownness from her fields of grains.

We will taste her flesh;
The nectar of her fruit and the broth of her beings
Bitter bark of her thresh
As we feast on grey songs; mourning doves and their grievings.

Dear Mother Earth
These are our true feelings.

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