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Poem

In the quiet dance of earthen form,
Where roots entwine and life is born,
Approach with a heart as steady as stone,
Grounded in truth, where seeds are sown.

First glances, though brief, hold the weight of earth,
In the curve of hills, in the soil’s rebirth.
A stance firm as rock, or a body that sways,
Speaks of struggle, or sunlit days.

Clothes like leaves, layers of the ground,
Each color and texture, a story profound.
Trinkets like fossils, impressions made,
Of time’s quiet hand, of paths once laid.

Know their rhythm, the pulse of the land,
The way they flourish, or barely stand.
A shuffle of feet, is it toil or rest?
The earth holds answers, unspoken, confessed.

In their face, the landscape of emotions’ plain,
Creases like rivers, joy’s gentle rain.
Eyes like canyons, deep and wise,
Or lips like deserts, where silence lies.

Every scar, a trench, every wrinkle, a ridge,
A map of their journey, a life’s sacred bridge.
Gestures fleeting, like leaves in the breeze,
Yet rooted in truth, as firm as the trees.

Observe, but with care, and an ear to the ground,
For every movement carries a sound.
In understanding, we find our kin,
In the whispers of earth, and the soul within.

So, read with patience, and feel with might,
For the language of earth shines its light.
Beyond mere words, it tells its spell,
An eloquence only the soil can tell.

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