The worms wrote a story and left it for me to find!
Etched on fallen wood they tell the tale,
Dictated memory in slow whispers as essence fades:
Of the hard task passing through the dark mantle,
Seeking the unrelenting mystery, new life singing
Stretching, reaching, growing, never still –
Bending before the storm to touch the silly grass
That will never reach above to kiss the sky!
Light and dark… cold and hot…
Sleep and wake… bark and bud
Sap-pushing, life-pulsing
Green, green, green – always green
Even in sleep there is green!
Bright and soft the light cycles endless,
Dark thoughts broken by shuddering flash
Crackle – Crack – Crash… then suddenly still!
No flow. No pulse. Life ebbs out to grassy titters.
After all the seasons, so short this life…
Wind and rain, breathe in, breath out,
Back to the earth, to the beginning.
This is what the worms wrote and left for me to read.
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