By Anonymous

Snakes slithering in the undergrowth,

gloomy murk and despair

and leaves blackened by rot;

Weeds reaching clumsily through the turned earth

—earthworms, those little tendrils of life,

spindling along like fibers of the mortal system;

Orchestral buzz of flies,

stagnant water and algal bloom

(which tells of death and life,

death and life;)

Upon the earth, like gravedirt turned,

onerous ants trail back and forth—

a machine stronger than any of man’s;

And among the swamp a heron stands,

tall as a tower, and just as mighty,

his cloudy down as soft and blue as wisdom:

This is another way of life.

Halcyon is a place in one’s mind;

here, the birds fly from the earth,

and back to the earth they must go.

here, the weeds die, and come back,

and die and die again.

They’re coming back as strong and as lovely as ever.

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