Emily's Garden Poem
You know you lie as you plant peas
False goddess, there upon your knees.
No victory’s in poking holes
Like little graves, for little goals.
Yet stroke and fondle sweet fresh earth
Dream you’re responsible for birth.
The other mothers past were true
When they played little goddess, too.
We dig, we seed, we die: we grew.
Wither or green, for you or not
Like all our children, born to rot,
All are consumed, and someday shit
It is so springtime, isn’t it?
You know you lie as you plant peas
False goddess, there upon your knees.
No victory’s in poking holes
Like little graves, for little goals.
Yet stroke and fondle sweet fresh earth
Dream you’re responsible for birth.
The other mothers past were true
When they played little goddess, too.
We dig, we seed, we die: we grew.
Wither or green, for you or not
Like all our children, born to rot,
All are consumed, and someday shit
It is so springtime, isn’t it?
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