In the face of the sun, we rose
cracking the compounded compost of life,
fresh and green; we peeped through the steam…
strong and straight, like blades of grass in spring.
to the best and worst of things, we clinged
and made the most of everything
to soften the sting of adverse weathering.
In the comfort of the moon’s light,
blanketed by night, we soundly slept…
while beasts that would root out our minds’ depths
cleverly crept across our earthen beds
waiting for our sprouts to rear their heads
not to christen them with dew,
but to pluck them from whence they grew.
In the season of our maturity,
we bore the fruit that was nurturing,
full and sweet, hung low within reach,
fastened to their limbs strong and true;
fragrant, firm, and full of hue…
infused with the sun—kissed; live anew,
and the beauty of it all, presented in full view.