Spring death rises from His trees
He painted with more than purple, blues
He gave us more than angry reds and the
proverbial mellow yellows
Needed more hues for our crayons
He created a world within rich earth
Where seeds planted bloom into beauty
food and become staffs or knives
He created us so.
Rivers of mud and streets of dirt
We'd want to color it all
Copyright © Autumn Rose Wood | Year Posted 2012
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