give to me, this green earth
to fill it, with gentle mirth.
Yet mirth, unaccounted for
makes one an insufferable bore.
So that road we shall not take,
just cut the lawn and rake
the clippings and leaves so green.
For days still thunder behind screens.
Hide you must, those squall feelings,
till by bed you are kneeling
Lost in thought, allez, pray deep.
Could you give your soul to keep?
Michael EK McCullough
7/2009
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