Her eyes are flowers
That turn towards the sun
Her hair is tangling vines that run
Over your carefully manicured lawn
After the rain. She wakes at dawn
Hungry for the kiss of sunlight.

She is the shadows of leaves
The sound of roots pushing into the earth
She is the silent ancient mirth
Of ivy gnawing at buildings
Of the conquest of bindweed. She never
Yields an inch of ground.

She is the smell of wet earth,
Compost and leaf mould and worm-cast,
Her love may be slow but it is vast.
Her hour is always now and never past,
She will endure. She scatters her seeds
Over the whole earth, an endless dance.

Her speech is the pollen carried
From flower to blossom to flower
Whispering her vast design across the land.
Her songs and sighs are carried by the wind
Into your carefully sealed houses,
Into your dreams.

---

©️ Yvonne Aburrow
25 May 2023, 12:50 pm