Poetry

Dirt

See me spread over landscapes
of forest, meadow, and farm.
I nourish the wildflowers
and warm the roots
of all you eat.
I am the clay
so that you
may build bricks
and sculptures too.
I am the place you bury
treasure and loved ones.
I absorb the air, water,
and organics of Earth —
fallen leaves,
fallen birds,
footprints,
flesh and bone.
I am the beginning,
and end of many things.
I am patient and durable;
so often taken for granted.

In my simplicity —
I am extraordinary.

© Literary Remains

25 thoughts on “Dirt”

  1. Your piece made me consider earthen contrasts. The gradients of fertility and barreness, the frozen, the wet, the damp and the dry (which we are suffering right now), the heavy, the coarse, the loamy, the sandy. I think there is more for us to sift from this dirt about which you write.

    Like

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