Mother Earth

The whiff of strong coffee brewing
and fresh cut bacon sizzling, hits
my nose and wakes me before the
rooster yelps “good morning.”

Standing on my porch watching
the sun rise over the fields of
corn stalks swaying in the wind,
sopping of the remaining red-eye
gravy with the biscuit left in my saucer.

Squeezing the warm, full utters of
our milk cow while sounds of fresh
dairy ping the metal bucket as she
munches on the grain placed before her.

The smells, the sights, the feelings
of the earth and all her glories remind
me of the simple things—those things
I took for granted—those things I now
long for.

How I betrayed you Mother Earth.
You gave me your best and
I showed you my worst.

Deprived of your love now—your
mud and sand formed the concrete
pillars that imprison me.

Your metals shaped into bars that
I peer through where I see beyond
the razor wire, watching the trees
bow at your majestic wind.

Bring me back to your bosom and
I will not forsake you again. Let
me die in your earth and return to
it the dust that you formed me with.

swans mate for life