Mourning time

The earth and its moss
Buried now
Beneath the warm
Cold snow
Needs the darkness
That blanket provides
To tell its heart
The drought didn’t break us
All the way down
The fields will mourn their miscarriage
And then
When the black bands are retired
At winter’s last stand
They will lie down with seed again
Risking another pregnant spring
To call themselves
Blessed Mother
Again

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