ankle-deep in horse merde
I see that template
from which springs
fresh roots and...well you know the deal...
I will wash my feet and stay
alone in my room whose window gives out
on a fading violet twilight
lighting the land in soft waves...
perhaps I shouldn't have been so haughty
but after all all of us are farmers
crops fail crops succeed
while we are at the mercy of everything
but our own abilities...unless you're wise
you'll know better than to try prophecy
Content (c) 2008-2016 Philip Milito.
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