Dew-covered grass 

covers my naked skin. 

Flowers sprout 

from where I have been. 

Day and Night 

hastily clock in. 

Running to their positions, 

preparing their respective scene. 

 

Not that I can see.

The layer of dirt that separates 

from what is and has been, 

no longer that thin. 

 

Breathe Death in, 

for it is I who nurtures the earth 

who gives to you birth, 

and live from it. 

One day you’ll lay here too, 

motionless and breathless. 

Yet, there’s no need to fret. 

For you, weary traveller, 

whose feet have been blistering

and bleeding for so very long,

will wholeheartedly be 

welcomed back home.