The earth leans, heals up, forward
As do all of natures pious,
Skins beading warmer rain.

Pregnant buds of greening ones,
Praise the same as human masses-
Spinning silent wheels of prayer
In a warmer, closer sun,

Paying offerings in kind by nurturing,
Along each step, broader days take
Having faith in Chrysanthemum
And saffron, whose only leaves are signs
That rainbow-shade believers eyes,
With far off autumn color.

Now to old tasks, the touch of humus,
Warm and soft on fingertips, embraced
By gentle arms of southern breezes,
That have rid the mold of cold-hard ice.

Come into me, my dear sweet earth-
Penetrate my being, mind and body,
Touch my heart with ancient poetry
That drugs to vision, bountiful things,
Soon to rise above the winter trash;
That I defray by aches in tasks to reap.
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