The red soil rises in the garden
Upon a wrought and coiling mist,
Then collects the stems of morning light:
Old Future's endless sift.
These mornings when the flood plains swell
Instil great peace of mind;
Tireless are the crossroads of
Transpiring, morning light.
Set down the blade,
Spread far the grain,
Inhale the rice-fed air.
Now rake the water's fervent edge—
Reveal the waves of golden.
Sep 15, 2022
Sep 15, 2022 at 9:47 AM UTC
The red soil rises in the garden
Upon a wrought and coiling mist,
Then collects the stems of morning light:
Old Future's endless sift.
These mornings when the flood plains swell
Instil great peace of mind;
Tireless are the crossroads of
Transpiring, morning light.
Set down the blade,
Spread far the grain,
Inhale the rice-fed air.
Now rake the water's fervent edge—
Reveal the waves of golden.
