Dirt Can Make a Farmer Cry
Feel the bark of the tree,
See the black of the night
Breathe the air that
Tastes of beauty
Holy and bequeathed
To give us sight.
We have but one response
To God, He makes us cry.
As we stand
Within His presence
Unfulfilled
Seeking the best
Of ourselves
Before we die.
Potentially splitting hair
Between what is
and isn’t there
Standing on the threshold
Of ourselves
Waiting to catch
A glimpse of eternity.
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