Dirt

Remembering why I am on campus
I grieve the absence of farms and orchards,
Of forests and hills. We have our excess
In asphalt, malls, Art Deco — not vineyards.
Florida gives you citrus and sugar
And neither are farmed around Miami:
Miami only trades in the bizarre,
Harvests hopes, sows dreams — so it seems to me.
Instead of farming, I must dream of words,
Listen to the learned, and chisel at poems;
Still I wist of pastures and llama herds,
But lacking dirt, use words to bury gems.
And I trade in spades for a pen and toll,
Digging into the rich soil of the soul.

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This entry was posted in Sonnets.

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