When I paint you against the canvas
Forgive my amateurish brush strokes
My eyes are dew from rolling mornings
So while you’re blurry and out of focus
My focus is consumed in capturing your fingertips
***** from digging into the fresh Earth
Your green thumb growing grubs
Overrunning manicured lawns
Gentle reminders that the land is free and wild and strong
That we don’t trample it like mighty giants
But instead it bears our burdens
That Atlas is just a myth because
Not even the most supernatural man
Would withstand the weight of the world
And the harsh truth is he’d busy himself on enslaving it.