I smell of salt, sweat and earth
dark from the sun's warmth, the day's work
breeze, blossom and tender shoot
mud-caked nailbed, blackened foot
Twitter and chirp, rustle and crow;
the song that plays as I work each row
churned up black, wet and living
I'll keep working, she'll keep giving
some days, I want to just sink in that loam
realize her peace; make her my home
But not just yet, for the sun is high
and there's work to be finished before I can die
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