The loam
Take me home to my place
in the land, with its wet rocks
and dry sticks. Let me breathe
the air the birds breathe,
feel the sun the squirrels feel,
and sink back into the loam of love.
Take me home to my place
in the land, with its wet rocks
and dry sticks. Let me breathe
the air the birds breathe,
feel the sun the squirrels feel,
and sink back into the loam of love.