It is in the Way…We Walk


Letter from Mother…

Insinuate with soft, well, chosen strides.

Leave an open arm’s path…ahead and behind.

A venue for others to confide.

Not all season’s covet rebirth.

Ultimately, no man-made earth.

Contrite, as it appears.

Extinction grows near.

Beware an over harvest…coupled with a weighty appetite.

In every budding sapling, a saint, a sinner.

Nil is the return…on a landscape that cultivates thinner.

The shadow’s tire on decayed cornstalks.

In a layperson’s terms,

it is less in the way…


more in why…

we walk.


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