Green
stay your hand
with its obtund touch
take away your arid mouth,
your incurious eyes from me,
from my unscaled sight
you are but dull clay,
Ozymandias, barren
and I am fresh green
that strives for the light
spilling from your crumbling ashlar
jubilant, with scarlet buds
to catch the rain
and burgeon in its caress
to sway with the tumult of the wind
to kiss the voluptuous sky
to lay my feet on the lush earth
to live, to thrive
far away from your desert
Copyright © Susan Finnis | Year Posted 2023
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