By John Morrison


there laying among tulips and lilies

spread out in blindness of err

and covered in dirt

hidden from passersby.


And stains coat clouds above

heaven seems so far away

into depth each shovel full of soil

relinquishes to bury this day

for the night birds sing their songs


to a lone figure covered in sweat

from work wrought with calloused hands

and plains are soon covered

making it all go

and with this something grows

from what lies buried night shadows stilled


and you said good-bye for the last time

leaving behind a shell

lost in the repetitiveness life has become.

When it is wilted and decayed

are only smells are left

and crops grow no more.

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