Ode To The Soil - I

Soil which be A little more than dust Yet you produce What dust does not produce Stares Looking in your face. So many thing Glimmer in the World's Way: Outrunning you By far: But flop producing That which you produce. In dust with boiling Waters soaked Life thriving in The genesis you find But in the soil Not so? And Do they fruit and herbs And flowers sprout? In dawn You have a color For you be fine With all sorts Of color: In noon as the day Grows As yet other colors And Then declining colors From afternoon: Change upon change Color on color To pale orange by Four in lazy afternoons Then Growing orange more In the weak sunset Then With beauty tinge The cheeks of dusk And pining eyes And The fast-reaching Reign of the black Night. The stars pine for You And to you desire Many a time To descend With their fire. The moon likewise. In dust with boiling Waters soaked Life thriving in The genesis you find But in the soil Not so? And Do they fruit and herbs And flowers sprout? But in the night Unnoticed most You thrive With graves opening Shrouds and ghosts Escaping and Others from trees and Other places coming All lank, all Rattling bones And Then with their laments And yearning To the bones You yearn And You lament Though nights at time Be starless Though Dawn at times Rise dread And confounded: The hisses that arise From time to time In you Clear the blinding mists And the confounded Calm, make straight Deep into the nights - and late