every other week at sun worship time the heavy, rose-stomping creature tear us into fertilizer for the snobbish trees delaying us in our plans to reach God. every other week our fight to touch Sol is defeated beginning over again the next Godrise twenty-six times a year we fall helpless, our sunstretch dead and yet we grow.
What a wonderful poem about seasons and searching!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you. I’m glad you liked it. 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person