In dredging memory for childhood moments,
Those lingering longest in abysmal slumber.
I've searched for seed in crevice and shadow,
Absent of sound, I found inordinate number.
Exposed were seedlings long ago planted,
Infertile and parched until this sounding.
But detrimental seed weren't sown deep,
Satan's recall is most keen and abounding.
Time eroded soil which encased dire seed,
Whether good or bad, neither, minuses yield.
Before my unharnessed mule was in the barn,
Satan's shovel was busy grubbing in my field.
Copyright © Tom Wright