And the fields may not call to us, like they do the farmer
but there are still fragments of soil in our veins
pieces of clay in our bones, an echo
of the divine in the sky.
And when we taste the fresh fruit again
we remember at least a part
of our history and
how we loved
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2016, ancient skies
Peace and blessings to everyone.
“When we love people, we give them hope.”