On Poetry

The words fall like rain from stormy and ominous clouds

Drenching the ground and teaching it to forget how

It was once abandoned and left to starve on its own.

Though the precipitation had previously begun as a downpour,

It soon eased to a steady sprinkle though it hasn't stopped.

The dirt revels in the moisture as new creations spring up.

A promise reminding me how the earth knows to heal itself.

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